Unforgiven
by Immokk
Summary: From the beginning, how it happened, what made us the way we were? The answers lie, most certainly, in our past.
1. Prologue

**AN: New, don't own any of the characters from the book, play or film. Don't own the Opera Populair and do not own the original story.**

**I do own my characters, places and plotlines.**

**Reviews gratefully accepted.**

**Unforgiven**

**Prologue**

The dark takes over me as I stumble forward then finally on to my knees. It is raining, a cold, driving rain, and, as I try to push myself to my feet, my hands sink deep into the muddy earth. I pull them back out, hold them out in front of my face and stare at them. Clumps of wet dirt slide down my long fingers and I feel a shiver crawl down my spine. There's a taste of vomit on my tongue and I spit to try to free my mouth, it is no use.

I feel my stomach roll, I cough and struggle to my feet, legs slightly bowed out as I try to regain my sense of balance. _My usually perfect sense of balance._ I feel weak, my legs tremble from the weight of my body but I fight against it and manage, somehow, to stay upright. Catching my breath I know that I must keep moving, I know that I must find her, I know that if I don't then my life will be over.

My chest is hurting as I begin to move forward again. It pulls tight and I try to decide if it is the cold air hurting my lungs or if it is really my breaking heart. I shake my head, shake myself back into sanity. There is no time for me to think about this, _there is no time for me at all_, I must keep moving.

Forging on, I push against the wind, it tears at my body and rips the jacket from my back. One look over my shoulder and the jacket is gone with the wind, it's black merging with the dark night. I don't doubt myself though, even as I tussle with the powerful gusts, for I know that it is this way. I know I am going the right way because I overheard them, I heard what they said. She is this way and therefore this is the way I must go.

A thud hits me as a branch falls down and knocks me back to the ground. I reel from the pain shooting through my back, I lie there for a moment, scared that I am wasting precious time. _Time_. There is no time. I force myself back to my feet, feel the all too familiar quiver in my knees as I balance myself again. My head spins, I feel dizzy, I am stumbling forward and reaching out. What I feel beneath my hands is rough and hard, I blink against the rain, trying to focus my eyes.

Although I know what it is my mind seems incapable of registering it, of speaking to my hands. I shake my head again, desperately trying to regain some form of composure. I turn and lean against the trunk, look out at the battered landscape surrounding me. It is February in France and I _know_ that I am lucky it is not snowing but I don't _feel_ lucky.

I feel desperate.

I am not lost though, I grab my bearings and begin to run again. The wind pushes hard against me but I battle back, hunching myself over and taking the brunt of the gales with the bulk of my body. I know I must run, I know I must keep going but I am tired and cold, I fear I am almost done with the mortal world.

These thoughts shock me into moving on, into fighting against the ripping pains in my chest. I am combating the stodgy feeling pulling my legs down, I am working hard to forget the pain in my back. I feel the blood seeping through my shirt, it is the only warm part of me.

Who would have thought that my blood would be warm?

I wretch again, my body lurches forward but somehow I stay on my feet, unsteady as they are, and continue to run. I will not deny the pain I feel as I yell out into the vast blackness. I know that no one hears me, although I know that they follow me.

My head it like wool, my brain is not behaving the way it should, it is not doing what it usually does, it is not helping me, not freeing me, not giving me the aid I need to get through. I see a small light in the distance and run for it. I must be nearly there, it must be here somewhere. Dropping to my knees again I let a gush of air out of my lungs, I can barely hold myself up straight anymore. There is no energy left. I can see the light, I know my hand is reaching out for it but I can not move.

I try to call for help, something I have never done before, but the words stay in my mouth. I can hardly part my lips without pain shooting through my veins, it is the worst feeling. I fall forward, I am lying on my front staring ahead. I am too weak to even move my arms so how can I possibly stand? I am letting her down, I am letting her down _again_.

I try again, but my arms simply twitch and I feel vomit rise into my throat again. No, no... I squeeze my eyes shut, close my mouth... _no_.

When I find the power to open my eyes again I realise that the light is moving. The light I had seen, the one ahead, is moving towards me slowly. I feel no fear, I rarely do, but I feel some anxiety as I watch the light move closer. It flickers, I think it must be a lantern.

Are they friend or foe, I wonder? There is always more chance, with me, that it is foe.

At least I escaped, I think as I lie alone in the rain, with wind and mud surrounding me, at least I did that much for her.

It was hard to get this far, it was difficult to get away. They drugged me to stop me from running, I know this, but they did not expect my body to be as strong as it is. It is strong, right now it might not look it, but my body is strong. It has become strong from years of pain and torture. It has become strong from the days spent alone, from nights bathing in cold water.

_My body is strong and it is their mistake to underestimate me._


	2. She

**A/N: I have decided to name every chapter after a song (providing I can think of one) Brownie points to anyone who can name the artist.**

**Chapter 1- She**

Six Years Earlier.

The white froth of the ocean lapped at the beach like fingertips reaching out. Christine Daae sat with her feet buried in the sand staring out at the sun slowly lowering itself towards the horizon. A deep sigh built in her chest and she let it escape her lips as she closed her eyes and lay back in the sand. It was not a warm day, the wind was blowing all around her, but sometimes she felt that this was the only peace she got. She was in Portugal touring with her father while he was playing violin at the smaller theatres. There was never any doubt in her mind that her father was a great man, a great musician and more than this, a great father but because of his status he never got the recognition he deserved.

They had toured France and Spain, Portugal was the last stop for them and she, though she hated to upset her father, was glad. The travelling took its toll on her, it made her weary and it made her long for home. Briefly, her mind flitted back to when her mother was alive, when Christine was a child, and she remembered their travels then quite fondly. Perhaps it was that she sometimes felt abandoned alone out here. Not that she blamed her father, how could she? All that he was doing was providing for her and making sure that they ate and slept in peace.

A familiar sound made her open her eyes with dread and she glanced to her left. The boys staying at the hotel just minutes from her own were all walking along the beach towards her. Her heart suddenly felt heavy, she knew they had seen her. She had met them the first night she was here and because of her strange accent they mocked her.

They seemed to take pleasure in making her feel inadequate and making her feel stupid. I'm not stupid, she thought, I am educated and talented.

_I am not stupid. _

As they approached she knew it was too late for her to get up and run away. Instead she carefully rose to her feet, pulling her scarf around her neck to fend off the breeze, and turned her back.

One of the boys shouted something but she could not make out what he was saying. They made some more ground and one of the younger ones threw sand at her.

'Christine,' One of them called and she gritted her teeth. Why did it always sound like an insult when shouted from their mouths?

Another boy pushed in front of his friend. 'Such a pretty name,' he said. 'Shame your face doesn't match it,'

Christine felt hot as the other boys laughed at their friend's cruel joke. She turned quickly and began to walk in the opposite direction. She knew that she was not beautiful, she knew that she was not rich but she did not understand why these boys picked on her.

'Where are you going?'

She ignored him and continued to walk, hoping that they would turn and leave her alone. Of course, she hoped in vain.

One ran to catch her up.

'Stay a while,' he said, a hard glint in his eye.

'I don't want to,' she whispered as he stood in front of her, stopping her from walking away.

'Aww,' he said, a laugh caught in his throat. 'Pretty please... we won't hurt you,'

She shook her head. 'I have to go,'

She tried to brush past him but the tallest boy grabbed her arm and pulled her back, flinging her into the middle of the crowd. She looked around her, seeing that there was four of them, and felt a sense of defeat wash over her.

'We want to talk to you,' one of the smaller boys said.

Another nodded. 'That's all,' he laughed.

'How old are you?' another boy asked.

'Fourteen,' she murmured.

'You're a beanstalk,' one laughed.

'Please leave me alone,' she said quietly but it only made them laugh more.

'We're not doing anything,'

She blinked away tears, telling herself that she should not let these boys make her feel bad and she should not show them that she was in any way frightened or upset. Again she made a move to walk past them but the tall boy grabbed her again. The pain was intense in her arm and she gasped in pain but it only made him squeeze her harder.

She yelped.

'Let her go!'

She blinked and looked around her, trying to see where the sound had come from. Was someone really trying to help her? To her right she caught sight of two people walking towards them, one was young, maybe a little older than her and the other was older, perhaps in his twenties.

The boys stared at them.

'Now,' the older man said, getting closer to them.

The boy dropped her arm and stepped back away. 'You always ruin our fun,' he said, pulling a face.

'This is fun for you?' the older man said, standing next to her. She looked up at him in awe. _Thank you, thank you._

The tall boy said nothing but looked at his feet.

'I asked you a question,' he said, his voice deep and powerful. 'Is this what you call fun? Picking on a defenceless young lady?'

His anger made the boys back away.

'Sorry Philippe,' said the tall boy.

'You will be sorry if I catch you doing it again,' he growled.

With these words it was done, the boys turned on their heels and ran away, looking scared. The older man, Philippe, looked down at her.

'Are you alright?' he asked, looking at her carefully. The younger boy stood by her side.

'Yes,' she said, trying desperately to hold back her tears. 'Thank you,'

He nodded. 'Raoul,' he said to the younger boy. 'See she gets back to her hotel, if those boys come near her again you have my permission to run them through... little terrors,'

Raoul smiled. 'Certainly, it would be my pleasure,' he said.

Christine watched as Philippe moved away and she finally found the courage to look at Raoul. How pretty he was. She had never before seen a boy so pretty. His face, not handsome, but stunning. Smooth skin and long blonde hair, tied neatly back, it glowed golden under the setting sun. He had the most beautiful eyes, hazel green. She was taken aback by how perfect he looked.

'Now, where is your hotel?' he asked. He had a voice of pure confidence and upper class.

She felt her heart sink.

She pointed. 'It is that one at the top of the hill,'

He smiled. 'Then I shall walk you back,'

'It's unnecessary,' she said softly, feeling embarrassed.

'I insist,' he said, grinning. 'You can tell me about yourself as we walk. What is your name?'

'Christine Daae,' she said.

'Raoul de Chagny,' he said, offering his hand. When she took it he raised it to his lips and kissed it gently. A flush crept quickly along her cheeks. 'That was my brother, Philippe,'

'Thank you for helping me,' she murmured.

'Think nothing of it,' he said. 'My brother simply can't stand bullies, finds them repulsive.'

She smiled.

'They won't bother you again, that I can promise you,'

'He knows them,' she said.

'Yes,' Raoul answered, taking her arm and hooking it through his. 'Well... he knows their fathers, where is your chaperone? You really shouldn't be out alone,'

She blushed. 'I don't have one,'

He stopped, stared at her. 'Why on earth not?'

'I...' she felt her breath catch. 'I'm not rich... we... my father and I... don't have much money,'

'I see,' he said and smiled. 'Well, if you need someone to accompany you from now on you should come to me,'

'Oh, no,' she said. 'No, I couldn't,'

'Why not?'

'That would be a terrible imposition,'

He grinned. 'For who?'

'You,' she said and felt her blush reappear.

'No imposition,' he said simply. 'Besides, I'd quite like to see you again,'

They had just started walking up the hill towards her hotel and she stopped, staring at him blankly. Had he just told her that he wanted to see her again?? She, Christine Daae, the ugly skinny girl.

'Why?' she asked.

'Why not?'

'Do you always answer a question with a question?' she asked.

'Do you?' he laughed, placing his hand on hers. 'No, really, you seem very lovely and there is so little to do here that when you meet someone interesting you want to spend your time with them,'

Her face and neck felt hot. 'Why are you here then?' she asked, giving in to her building sense of curiosity.

'My family are here on some business,' he said, looking away. 'What about you?'

'Family too...' she said. 'My father is a violinist, he is performing at some of the local theatres,'

'Really?' Raoul said, looking at her, suddenly his eyes were alight. 'I love music,'

'Do you?' she asked.

'Doesn't everyone?' he said. 'Do you think we could go and see him play?

Christine frowned. 'His shows sell out,' she said. 'You can come up to see him tomorrow if you like, at our hotel... I'm sure he will play for you,'

'That would be wonderful,' he said, not even trying to contain his enthusiasm.

Silence fell between them as they got closer to the door of the hotel. She glanced sideways at him, trying not to let him see her staring. The wind swept a loose section of hair over his face and he ran his hand over his head, pushing it back. It was smooth, nothing seemed to bother him or unnerve him. He seemed completely at ease with who he was and how he looked. At that moment she almost envied him or rather she would have if she could get over the unusual feeling of attraction.

Raoul seemed almost oblivious to her staring at him, he was looking around him, enjoying the views and the weather on his face.

'What are you family on business for?' she asked, realising that she hadn't earlier.

'Oh, nothing much,' he said.

'I told you,' she said and felt immediately childish.

'It's nothing really,' he said, showing her his easy smile. She felt her heart give a thud, reminding her that it was still there and had not fluttered away with the fairies.

She pouted, felt girlish but kept her lips sullen.

'We're just...' he said, paused. 'It's not at all interesting, not nearly as interesting as your father being a musician,'

'Please,' she said.

'We're visiting the Prince,' he said. Christine blinked. 'I told you, utterly dull.'

'Are you being honest?'

He nodded. 'My father is Comte Pierre De Chagny, he and my mother are staying at the palace, my brother, sister and I choose to stay at a hotel,'

Still reeling, Christine stared.

'I didn't want this to change the way you behave around me,' he said softly. 'I wanted you to be fine with being my friend,'

'I...I am...' she stuttered, was she though?

'You sound it,' he said quickly.

She swallowed. 'I don't have many friends,' she whispered.

'Well, now you have one more,' he said with that warm smile. 'What time should I come by tomorrow?'

'Umm...'

'Breakfast?' he asked.

'I have breakfast with my father,' she said.

He nodded. 'Then for lunch?' I shall show you some of the village.

'Lunch,' she said, feeling suddenly completely grown up. She took a breath, deep and long, and walked inside her hotel, heart beating hard in her chest.

Raoul de Chagny, she thought, that's something she would not be forgetting for a long time.

* * *

There was a small fire casting light and heat around the small hotel room. Only a few of the ground floor rooms had a fire, the rest simply had a bed. Under normal circumstances Charles Daae could never afford a room of such luxury but these were not normal circumstances. He had befriended the owner of the hotel some months ago at a concert in Sweden and was now sitting in the most comfortable room for free. Of course, Charles never took this for granted, and had played in the hotel dining room for the guests in manner of paying his way.

Resting his head against the back of the chair he closed his eyes and sighed, wondering if he might get some rest before the concert that evening. He took in a long, soothing breath and let his mind wander free but it did not wander a long way because never far from his thoughts was his daughter. He felt his body sag with sorrow in the chair.

He wished he could do more for her, give her the life that she most certainly deserved. She was more than patient with the travelling and him spending every night out at shows. Poor child, he thought, feeling a wave of sadness roll into him.

The door creaked open.

'Are you sleeping, father?' Christine whispered and had he been asleep he knew that this would not have woken him.

'No,' he said. 'I am awake, come in and sit with me,'

He glanced over and she smiled, taking the seat next to the fire. She placed her hands out and he watched as they glowed red and orange from reflections of the flames.

'Are you well?' he asked, sitting up straight.

'Yes,' she said.

'Where have you been?' he asked. 'You've been gone quite a while...'

'I'm sorry,' she replied. 'I was on the beach.'

He eyed her carefully for a moment, felt the familiar feeling of over protectiveness pour into his veins. 'Alone?'

'At first,' she said.

'Oh,'

She looked at him. 'I met a boy...'

Charles heart thumped hard. 'Who is he?'

'Oh father,' she said rolling her eyes. 'He is just a boy who walked me back.'

'Yet you don't answer my question,' he said, forcing himself to sound jovial, though he felt anything but. _My girl_, he thought.

'His name is Raoul de Chagny,' she said quietly.

Charles leaned forward, a sudden jump in his chest. 'De Chagny?' he asked, heart fluttering.

She nodded.

'Vicomte De Chagny?'

Again she nodded, this time with a frown.

'Was his brother there?' he asked.

'Philippe?' she asked and he answered with a nod. 'Yes,'

'I know Philippe,' Charles said softly.

'You know him?' she looked confused. 'How do you know him?'

'He attends my shows usually, though I haven't seen him this time,'

'Are you friends?' Christine asked.

'No, no,' he said. 'No... he is aristocracy, we are acquainted, he is a good  
man,'

She smiled. 'Raoul and I shall be having lunch in the town tomorrow, do you mind?'

He felt a sigh in his chest but managed to stop it. Of course he minded that his young daughter was finding her own feet, that she was slowly blossoming into a lovely young lady. How could he not mind that soon men would be taking her away from him? But at least Raoul de Chagny could be trusted.

'No of course not,' he said. 'Just be careful,'

'I'm always careful,' she said walking over to him and kissing his forehead gently. He held her hand.

'I just worry about you,' he said feeling a lump in his throat.

'I know you do,' she said. 'But there's no need, I can take care of myself,'

He smiled and kissed the back of her hand. 'Tough girl,' he laughed.

She laughed too. 'Well, Raoul would really like to hear you play, I said that maybe he could come by tomorrow evening,'

Charles nodded.

'You don't mind?' she asked.

'Christine,' he said softly, squeezing her hand. 'I don't mind, I would do anything for you,'


	3. Unforgettable

**Chapter 2- Unforgettable**

Raoul patted his hair down, neatening it as he made sure it was tied back properly. Running his hand over his face one last time he pushed the front door of the hotel open and walked down the steps. As he walked his stomach jumped and he paused to compose him. This was the most unusual feeling to him, something uncommon, something that he wasn't used to. In fact, he could not remember a time when he had felt like this before.

The sun was blaring down but the breeze was cool on his skin making it bump up and prickle. He rubbed his arm, wishing he had worn his overcoat, and sat on the wall to collect his thoughts. Setting off early was a habit of his, ever since he was six or seven, he would leave his house early to get the best spot at school or the best place in the team. He was that way inclined, it was easier to be the best at something if he got the best space. He looked over the ocean, breathing in the fresh sea air, letting it filter into his lungs.

There was nothing like the smell of the sea's salt in the air.

A perfectionist, his brother called him, but he was a fine one to talk. Raoul freely admitted that he liked this his own way but Philippe was the real perfectionist of the family. Always needed things to be right, to look exactly the way he expected it to. There was no bitterness in his thoughts, Raoul loved his brother dearly and even now, at sixteen, he was prepared to show his affection for him. People often whispered that Raoul was probably jealous of his slightly more intelligent, slightly more dashing and slightly older, brother but the truth was that Raoul was glad he was not the eldest. The last thing Raoul wanted was to inherit his father's estate and all of the responsibilities that went with it. He was enjoying being young, meeting people... why would he want to attend all of the functions God could send to try them?

There was one thing that Raoul and Philippe really differed on, often clashed about, and that was their father. Philippe worshiped the ground the pompous old git walked on but Raoul could barely stand to be in the same room as him. Both Raoul and his young sister, Lauren, agreed that their father was a violent bully.

Though Raoul had never personally felt the wrath of his father's belt he knew that his mother certainly had. His father was rude to the staff and almost impossible with Lauren. Raoul worried that, if it wasn't for their mother's soft and kind ways, they would all turn out thinking that this was the way to live.

His mother was another story entirely, they all agreed that she was a sweet woman but Raoul wondered how she held herself together through what her husband dealt to her. Admiration and love was what he felt for his mother but that was an air of sorrow for her, an empathy. He wished that he could help her, he wished that he could make his father leave her alone but there was no way. He rarely hit her, that would leave bruises, but he was aggressive and belittled her at almost every chance he got.

Raoul couldn't wait to get out of that house.

He started to walk again, making his way slowly along the winding street, until he was at the bottom of the hill leading up to Christine's hotel.  
There were only three small hotels in this village, the one he was staying in, this one and a very small hotel a little further along. He knew of a few inns where poorer, less fortunate people stayed but these were the only hotels. They weren't particularly large, his family stayed in the biggest and most grand. The Prince did not live in this town and it wasn't the most glamorous of villages but they liked to holiday there. Raoul liked it here too, he thought as he walked up the hill. It's a beautiful little town, basically untouched.  
_  
And so quiet_. Gloriously, wonderfully quiet.

According to Philippe, normal boys of Raoul's age should not be looking for peacefulness but instead should be adventurous and searching for chaos wherever he could. Of course, Raoul was hardly a normal boy.

He glanced up and was met with a soft smile, under soft eyes. He smiled back, holding his hand out to help Christine down the steps.

Looking at her, he was unsure what he found so attractive. She was a little ... gawky, not ugly, not by any stretch, but still, she was unconventional. Perhaps that's what it is, he thought, she is miraculously unique.

'Good afternoon,' he said, as they began to walk side by side.

She smiled again. 'Good afternoon,'

'Where would you like to have lunch?' he asked, holding his arm out so that she could hook her hand around it.

'The cafe nearest to the sea,' she said. 'I like it there, it reminds me of my mother,'

Raoul nodded and walked without pursuing stories of Christine's mother. If she wanted to tell him about it no doubt she would, he thought, and placed his hand on hers, resting on his arm.

Taking sly glances at her as he walked, he noticed just how clean and fresh she looked. He also noticed that she had wrapped herself up decidedly warmer than he had with a grey coat, red scarf and long dress keeping the heat in. Briefly, he wondered about going back for a better coat for himself but changed his mind, the sun was warm enough it was only the breeze that was chilly.

Still, he found himself letting his body get closer to Christine's as they walked. Was it because he was cold or that he simply wanted to be close to her?

* * *

Lunch had been wonderful and Raoul had found Christine's conversation warm and knowledgeable. He was drawn to her, he could no longer deny it, and he wondered if she had sensed it or if. indeed, she felt the same way.

They were sitting on the beach now watching the sun set at almost the same spot they met yesterday. They were walking right at the water edge, letting the waves lick at their feet. Christine had playfully removed her shoes and he was carrying them. She had none the pretension that other women he met had, not of the airs and graces. Christine Daae was no snob and to Raoul that on it's own was attractive.

He could not imagine Charlotte, his brother's fiancee, simply ripping her shoes off and paddling in the cool sea. He was aware that the breeze had blown some strands of his hair out of the band he used but for the first time in his life he did not care.

'How long are you here for?' he asked, looking at her as they walked.

'Another few weeks,' she said and winced.

'What's wrong?' he asked, as she bent down and began to rub her toes.

'I trod on a pebble,' she said and sat down.

'Here,' he said, kneeling in front of her and taking her foot in his hands. He rubbed gently and she tensed. 'Sorry,' he said, feeling an unfamiliar blush on his cheeks as he let go of her foot.

'It's fine...' she said. He turned and sat next to her. 'How long are you here for?'

'Two weeks,' he said. 'I like it here,'

'Me too,' she said but her voice was almost sad.

'What's wrong?' he asked.

She shrugged and he saw her blink a tear away from her eye.

'Would you like to go back to your hotel?' he asked, worried that he had offended her.

She shook her head. 'Not yet,' she said, pushing herself back to her feet and started to continue along the beach. Raoul leapt up and followed.

'Are you sure?' he asked, as he finally made it to her side. He panted dramatically. 'You walk very fast,'

She laughed. 'Sorry,' she said and hooked her arm back through his. 'Yes, I'm sure... we're heading back that way anyway,'

He nodded.

'I get tired of travelling,' she said quietly.

'I suppose you travel a lot,' he said.

'Seems like all the time,' she wrapped her free arm over her waist.

'We travel a lot too,' he said, as if that would make her feel any better. _Idiot_, he thought. 'Err... My family and I,'

She smiled sadly. 'I would imagine you do,'

'You look so upset, is it something I've said... or... or done?' his question came out too frantically and he wished he could take it back. She stopped walking and turned to face him.

'It isn't you, Raoul,' she said, softly. 'I get tired... I miss my mother... I want to have a home,'

Raoul was suddenly at a loss for words, what did he say to that, how was he to answer her. He wasn't sure that there were adequate words to comfort her so he simply reached out and pulled her carefully into his arms. She did not resist, she held him back and they stood there for what could easily have been an eternity. Raoul almost wished that it was.

'I wish I could help,' he said softly, speaking into her hair. She pulled away, looking a little uncomfortable, and smiled.

'You are helping,' she said. 'It's nice to have a... err... a friend,'

He nodded. A friend. Oh how he longed now to be more, he wanted to feel her in his arms again, to smell her hair and feel her body against him. As much as he tried to snap himself out of his trance, it was no use, there was simply something about her, something so unique it make him weak at his knees.

'Well,' he said and began to walk with her again. 'That is what I am... your friend,'

She greeted the statement with a smile.

'Best friend,' he said, grinning. 'Like two cowboys... looking out for each other... only you're much prettier, and I'd lay my life on the line for you...'

Playfully he leapt onto a rock, holding the tree next to it, pointing his fingers like a pistol. He reached down and pulled her up with him, hiding her behind him.

She giggled, hand over her mouth as she did but as she did a gust of wind blew them both, and he caught her to stop her from falling. Unfortunately, her beautiful scarf was not so lucky as the wind took it away, to the ocean.

Christine leapt from the rock, her face horrified as she chased her scarf towards the water. The wind shamefully plonked it into the water leaving a red dot floating in a picture of blue. Christine was standing at the edge of the water with tears flowing down her cheeks when he reached her.

'It was my mothers,' she gasped, as the scarf floated further away.

Raoul grinned. 'I'll rescue it!' he took his jacket off and flexed his arms for Christine. 'I'll save your scarf, fair lady...'

He ran back to her quickly, suddenly unable to resist her, and kissed her cheek softly. 'Don't cry,'

And with that he plunged himself into the cold waves, swimming towards the red dot. When he reached it he held it up in triumph, waving it at her. He couldn't see her face properly but he was sure she was smiling and so, mission almost completed, he swam back to shore.

She _was_ smiling.

'Thank you,' she said and began to giggle. 'You look a mess,'

He glanced down at the clothes, sopping and stuck to him. 'Yes, I am,' he grinned, handing her the scarf. 'A few hours in front of the fire and that should be dry,'

She flung her arms around him and kissed his cheek, apparently unconcerned by how wet and cold he was. When she let him go she gave him his jacket back and smiled.

'We better get back,' she said. 'You need to change and my father will be worried,'

He nodded, suddenly feeling a wave of sadness drench him as if he did not feel wet enough.

'What's wrong?' she asked.

He thought for a moment, unsure what he should say. 'I don't want it to be over,' he said, opting for the truth.

'What?' she asked.

'This,' he said. 'Us... I've just... I've had the best day of my life, I don't think I have ever enjoyed myself so much...'

She smiled.

'I don't think that I have... err...' he paused. 'Ever enjoyed anyone else 's company so much either,'


	4. Bridge Over Troubled Water

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews. I like to get my stories started with a lot of chapters up at the same time so that people have chance to get to know my style and the characters. **

The M rating relates to what will be happening later in the story. I put the M rating up straight away because I feel it unfair to allow younger audiences to read a story and then change the rating half way through.

The prologue is obviously very important to the story but for a while you will not find out what is happening... the story will build up to that moment.

I will go through how Erik and Christine met and how their relationship developed... how Raoul became involved but there will be other characters. I intend to write my way through the story we all know but from more of a background perspective of now what happened but how and why it happened.

I must warn you all now this story is going to be long, possibly longer than my last.

Again, I thank you for reading, enjoy the next few chapters and, if you're feeling generous, review.

**Chapter 3- Bridge Over Troubled Water**

'You shouldn't have,' he said, the sarcastic tint to his tone making Antoinette shake her head. She placed the tray on the table in his small kitchen, threw her coat over the back of a chair and glanced at him.

He was sitting on a wall that edged the lake with his knees tucked up and his arms wrapped around them. He flashed her his _best bored look_ and then turned his attention back to the water.

'He's insufferable,' Nadir said, entering the room with a cup of water for her. She took it from him, placed it to her lips and sipped slowly. Everything seemed so much colder down here, she thought, as she placed the cup next to her tray.

Erik scowled at his friend. 'Well, you know what you can do, don't you?'

'Now, now,' Nadir said, scolding him. 'There's no need for that,'

Erik said nothing as he let his bare foot fall from the wall and dip into the lake. The cold never bothered him.

'Look, Erik,' Antoinette said. 'I brought you some food...'

She carried one of the plates over to him and held it out, letting the smell of warm meat pie waft under his nose. He turned his face away.

'I'm not hungry,' he said simply.

She rolled her eyes, couldn't help it. 'You never are,' she said and placed the plate on the wall next to him.

'He's been like it all day,' Nadir said, as he stood next to her.

'It would help if you didn't talk about me as if I wasn't here,' Erik said, looking down at the plate by his foot.

'Cheer up,' Antoinette said, knowing it was a foolish statement but also knowing that Erik would not mock her. He just stared coolly.

She shook her head and turned to Nadir. 'What time did you get here?' she asked.

'Over an hour ago,' he said,

'And he's been like this since then?'

He nodded.

'You're doing it again,' Erik growled, a glint of anger in his blue eyes.

'Well, perhaps we wouldn't if you could hold a civil conversation,' Nadir said.

Erik rolled his eyes. 'There is nothing civil about you Persian, so why would I speak civilly to you?'

'Erik,' Antoinette said softly.

'What?' he snapped. 'Just what do you want, why are you here?'

'I brought you something to eat, I thought you would appreciate it,' she said, surprised by his aggression towards her. It was completely out of character. Not that it was out of character for him to be moody or aggressive, just that it was out of character for him to direct it at her.

'Well, I'm not hungry,' he said. 'Just go,'

Nadir shrugged, lifting his jacket from the back of the seat and began to  
walk out.

'You can eat the pie,' Antoinette said to Nadir. He turned and smiled.

'No, leave it for _El Groucho_,' he said grinning. 'He'll come around.' And with that he let the door clunk shut behind him, causing the sound echo around the walls.

Antoinette walked to Erik, now finally alone, and wrapped her arms around him gently. 'What's wrong?' she asked, stroking his hair. She worried that she mothered him a little too much, she had done ever since they met, but she simply could not help it, he had been through so much.

He shrugged her off, he was never one for hugs and she had mostly expected it. 'Nothing,' he said.

'Erik,'

He let his eyes grow dark. He had a way of doing that, allowing his eyes to mist with blackness, so many shades of blue that if you knew him then one look at his eyes would tell you his mood.

'I baked you a cake,' she said softly. He turned to look at the last tray sitting, solitary, on the table. The white of his mask caught a glimpse of light and shone in her eyes.

'What for?' he asked, swinging his legs around so that he was facing her.

'Your birthday,'

'Huh,' he snorted. _'Happy birthday, Erik_,'

'Don't be like that,' Antoinette pleaded. 'It's supposed to be a happy day... you're not usually _this_ bad,'

His eyes fixed her with an icy stare that almost made her shiver. She found herself taking an uncharacteristically cautious step away from him.

'I am twenty five years old,' he said slowly, eyes focused intently on Antoinette's face. 'And I am trapped in these walls, with this mask hiding this face...' he pointed to the white that permanently adorned the right side of his face. It was a sharp and bright ceramic, held to his face by gum and almost invisible ties that he hid under always slightly too long hair.

'And you... you have no time for me anymore,' he growled. 'You have your husband, your daughter and your precious new job,'

His tone was so harsh she felt it would shake the walls, bringing them down. Erik never shouted, rarely even raised his voice any louder than usual, but he could make it menacing. Who needed to shout when they had a voice as powerful as his?

Erik was right of course, she spent most of her time with her husband Scott Giry and her twelve year old daughter Meg. He was right but he was also so wrong. Erik was never far from Antoinette's thoughts. She loved him dearly, she wanted to help him so much, she wished she could take him out of his shell. It was no use though.

She had been one of the few who knew him now, who had seen his face. As much as she loved him she admitted that the right side, the side he hid so defiantly, was horrific. Not long after she had helped him escape from his tormentors he had confided to her that it was a defect of birth, the mottled and pock marked flesh, the red and raw skin, the gap under his eye that made him look almost hollow.

His mother had abandoned him.

When she looked at him now she barely even thought of the right side of his face, the mask was simply a part of him. It was hard to imagine, looking at the smooth line of his jaw and the soft curve of his cheekbone, that under the mask, the right side of his face was more disfigured than anything she had ever seen.

It was not as though he never left his home in the cellars of the Opera Populair. He had been out many times, he had travelled with Nadir and often went for walks in the dusk but Antoinette thought she understood.

_He was lonely.  
_  
Erik, the proud and intelligent man he was, would never admit to this, not to anyone. She saw it though, in the sadness radiating from his eyes.

'I'm sorry,' was all she could murmur as she looked at him. His sharp blue eyes suddenly softened, and he looked away quickly. 'What can I do?' she asked.

'Nothing,' he said quietly. 'There's nothing you can do,'

'I will come more often,' she said.

'You have commitments,' he countered. 'I understand that.'

She sighed. 'I could make more time,'

'Don't,' he snapped. She paused, unsure what to do. He glanced over his shoulder at her. 'I will only bring you down,'

'That's not true,' she said softly, resisting every nerve in her body, every single one, that told her to reach out for him.

He jumped from the wall and brushed past her.

'Nadir visits,'

'Nadir is a fool,'

'He's a good man, Erik,'

Erik huffed and sat at his piano stool.

'You know he is,'

'He has met a woman himself you know?' Erik said, looking into the distance.

'He didn't say anything,' she said, heartened slightly by the thought of the small Persian befriending someone who would love him.

'And then there was me...' Erik whispered.

'No one is deserting you,' Antoinette said.

'I never said that you were,' he snapped.

'You insinuate it Erik,'

'Then I am wrong to say what I say,' he said. 'You have every right to your life and so does he...'

He let his voice trail off and silence surrounded them.

'Go home,' he said, staring down at the table top.

'I'd rather stay,'

He glared. 'Go home,'

She stayed still, stuck to the floor, watching him. He didn't look at her, barely moved a muscle.

'I won't tell you again,'

She nodded. 'Fine,' she said, lifting her coat from his table and throwing it onto her body. She turned and began to walk away.

'Don't come here again,' he said. Usually she would have put a comment like this down to his poor temper that day but there was something else. Something in the way he was behaving. Something was not right with him.

'Erik...' she said softly, 'Surely you don't mean that,'

His head shot up and he stared at her. 'Why would I say it if I didn't?'

'I...'

'You've done all you can for me,' he said quietly. 'Don't come by again, there is nothing either of us can do for the other anymore,'

She felt her eyes begin to sting, her chest ached. 'Erik...'

'Go,' he growled.

And so she did, she walked from the room, out of the door and along the long dark corridor to the outside. It was not until she fought her way through his hidden exit that she burst into tears. They came in unstoppable torrents, like the rapids of a storm struck river. Leaning against a tree she let the tears run and run, unsure of how she would stop them anyway.

Never before had she felt so hurt and so alone. Now, she would go back to her kind and generous husband, see her beautiful and talented daughter but all she would think of would be Erik.

The boy she had saved, the teenager she had nurtured and the man she had loved.

* * *

Scott Giry was sitting in his chair reading the newspaper. His immediate thought when he read the first page was that there would probably be nothing worth reading. His first impressions were usually right, as they were in this occasion. In a fit of disgust at the lack of talented reporters he threw the newspaper to the side table and pushed himself from his seat. The mirror above the fireplace caught his reflection and he noted the increasing grey in his blonde hair, and wondered if Antoinette, a woman much younger than he, would love him when he was old and completely grey.

He knew that he was not a bad sort, his handsome features had often been the cause of many giggles in young women, but he knew also that he was lucky to have Antoinette. She had not been at all interested in him when they first met, he often thought that this was what endeared her to him at the very beginning. They had met when he was helping to fund a production at the Opera Populair where she was a dancer. He was immediately attracted to her stunning figure and dark hair, found her almost irresistible in fact.

The whole event had taught him many things. He pursued her with much vigour, the vigour of a teenage boy, in fact. He made no secret of his attraction to her, he sent her flowers and chocolates, asked her to take walks with him. She was not interested. He tried harder, flashed her warm smiles whenever they were near each other and whenever he happened to find himself alone with her he would tell her of his wealth.

This, apparently, was his mistake. Antoinette was not in the least bit interested in any of his money or furnishings. She was less interested in the material things than anyone he had ever met. Of course, there had been something else. She was attracted to him, he had known that, but something more held her back.

She had never said so but Scott always suspected that she had been in love with someone else. He even suspected that she still saw him but knew her well enough to know that she would never betray him. Antoinette was a good and strong woman, a woman of many virtues, not least of all her fierce honesty. He loved her for that.

Scott had learned not to be the jealous type in his life and it had served him very well. It had made him good natured with a fair temperament. Business people liked this and he had grown and grown. He traded in anything he could get his hands on and, being a Doctor as well, had amassed quite a wealth from this.

However, nothing made his feel quite as wealthy as his young daughter, Meg. Beautiful, sweet Meg. Her mother had been teaching her to dance and at twelve years old she was now a member of the Opera Populair chorus, under her mother's watchful supervision.

'Scott,'

He turned to face his wife. 'Hello darling,' he said gently, walking to her and placing a kiss on her cheek. 'Is everything alright?'

'Yes,' she nodded but she did not look alright. She looked anything but in fact, she looked upset and dishevelled.

'Are you sure?' he asked, feeling concern swell inside.

'I feel a little tired,' she said quietly, letting herself fall into his arms. 'I'm sure I just need to rest,'

He held her tight. 'Lets get you tucked in then,' he said. 'I will make sure that Diana brings some dinner up to you,'

She nodded.

As they walked up the stairs, she propped herself against him, as if completely fatigued. He could not remember a time when he had seen her look so out of sorts. If she was not better tomorrow, he thought, they would call in the family doctor.


	5. Without You

**A/N- I had planned more chapters than this but I have changed my mind about them and feel they may need to be rewritten- bear with me!!**

**Chapter 4- Without You**

The wind was fierce and strong gusts blew the guests sideways as they stood in the cold. It was early February on the outskirts of Paris, the sun was bright and high in the sky, but the wind was letting them all know it was still winter. Christine stood silently, clutching her small bag in front of her body. She was not crying, in fact, she didn't even feel like crying. All she could feel was whole and complete nothing, a numbness that radiated through her and made her incapable of any real emotion. At this point she had simply had enough, a mere eighteen years old and this was what her life was. It had become the empty well of daily life, that she now was forced to plod through slowly.

Standing there, no one speaking to her, barely able to look at her, she wondered how God could be so cruel. What had she done in her short life to make his treat her this way, to see fit that she suffer like this? It was at this point that she resolved never to pray again, there was no God, there was no force that looked out for the good and righteous, there was only evil in this world. Only the devil existed.

She looked up as the priest walked out and stood at the end of the open grave. The coffin had been placed carefully at the bottom of the muddy pit, and the crowd had gathered to pay their respects. There were more people than she expected, more people than she had told, but she was, in a way, glad that they were there. Still, their eyes now, for the first time, seemed to focus on her. They stared, without shame, at her pale face and waited for her to cry. She didn't though, she wasn't even sure how to cry now. And besides, she thought, what good would crying doing, what possible purpose would it serve? It would not bring her father back, it would not make him rise from the coffin and profess he was not dead. No, there would be no tears from her, she thought, no tears. I will not cry for my father, I will not plead with any being that he come back, for she knew that none of this changed anything.

It was not as though she had not tried it when her mother died. Oh, how she had wept. She and her father had huddled together, in the coldness they felt, and cried for hours. Her mother was a loss so great she never thought she could survive it, but she had. However, the tears and the praying had done nothing but worn her down. Her mother had still been dead, her father had still be heartbroken and Christine had still felt lonely and lost.

She looked up from under the rim of her hat and met the mourners gazes. You can stare all you like, she thought, but it will not change this. Her eyes fell back down as the priest began to speak the ritualistic speech that she had heard before. Christine's last money had gone on this funeral and to her it meant nothing religious, it was simply a symbol of her love for her father. A great man and an honourable man, one she would miss everyday of her life. She would not weep for him, no tears would leave her eyes but he would remain forever in her thoughts, an eternity in her thoughts.

'Ashes to ashes,' she heard the priest say but she did not look up.

Though she would not cry she would never deny the ache in her chest, the feeling of lead pushing her shoulders forward and down. She would not resist the pull of her body, the one that told her that nothing would ever truly be he same. She knew this and therefore, how could she deny it?

No tears would escape her eyes, not today, not ever but her heart would always ache. How cruel to cut his life short, as if he was nothing but a pawn in a game of chess, how cruel to take this talent, his talent from the world, how cruel to have made his life a battle and constant struggle... how cruel it was, how cruel the world was.

She took in a sharp breath and reached down to take a clump of dirt in her black gloved hand. She scattered it across the top of the coffin, threw down the flower that had been in her bag.

Rest in peace, she thought but did not say, rest in peace my father.

* * *

After the funeral was over Christine made her way through the town to her home. As she rounded the corner she saw men standing outside, burly men with batons and carriages. Her feet began to run as she realised that they were breaking into her house. There was no fear in her anymore, nothing could make her feel much worse, and so she ran for them. When she flew through the gate one of the bigger men grabbed her arm and lifted her from the floor.

'What are you doing?' he asked, staring at her as she kicked and screamed at him.

'This is my home,' she said, struggling to fight her way from his grip.

He began to laugh.

'What is funny?' she demanded. To this the man laughed harder, still holding her from the ground. She pulled her foot back and kicked him hard in the stomach. He dropped her to the floor and she walked towards the front door but he soon caught up with her. Grabbing her, her spun her around to face him.

'Look lady,' he snarled. 'This is our property now...'

His voice trailed off as he looked over her shoulder. She turned to see what his eyes had caught and saw a tall, dark haired man walking towards them. He was wearing a dark pinstriped suit, fitted as if he were a rich man. As her gaze drifted over him she noticed how tall he was, how dark his eyes were. It was most disarming. Still, the fury she felt bubbled a heat below the surface of her skin.

'Put her down,' he said simply. He did not shout nor sound angry, he very calmly told the other man to let her go.

Immediately the grip on her loosened and she was standing between the two men.

'Miss Daae, I presume,' he said, holding his hand out as if he expected her to shake it. She stared down at it and he quickly tucked it behind his back out of sight.

'What is going on?' she asked, not even attempting to keep the anger from her tone.

'Why don't you walk with me?' he asked, his voice was soft and she felt warm to it.

'Not until you get these animals out of my house,'

'Let me explain,' he said quietly, placing a hand behind her elbow and steering her towards the fence.

She stared at him.

'You father...' the man said.

'Before...' she began and took in a sharp breath. 'Before you begin to speak of a man for whom you are no match, even in death, introduce yourself like a member of civilised society,'

This brought a smile to his face. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I am Gabriele Aiton,'

'And how is it that you know my father?' she snapped.

'We were er...' he paused, as if finding the right words. As if words would make this any better. 'Business acquaintances,'

'My father was not in any business,' she said.

'He borrowed money from me,' he said simply. Eyes no longer sparkling, they were cold and threatening. She stepped back from him.

'And you will take my house and belongings to repay that?' she asked, dismayed.

'I'm afraid that was our contract,' Gabriele said smoothly. 'He owed me... a lot of money,'

'How much?' she said, hoping to sound forceful but she knew that it sounded anything but.

'Enough,' Gabriele said and Christine could have sworn she saw a glint of something cross his eye. 'None of your concern now,'

The words cut her deeply, as if someone had taken a sword to her. She stared at this man, this handsome and softly spoken man. Mutton in lambs clothing she thought, as she watched his face. His tone had not been malicious but the words were enough, the words and what they meant.

She had nowhere to go.

'What am I to do?' she asked. 'Perhaps I can get the money for you?'

He laughed. 'No, you can't,' he said, 'But thank you for the kind offer,'

'Do not knock me, Monsieur,' she chided. 'I know what I am talking about... I can find a way...'

He shook his head and almost looked sorry. 'It's too much,' he said softly. 'You will never collect that much money quickly enough,'

'At least let me try...' she said, trying to keep the whimper from her voice. Suddenly, she felt every bit the child she still was. She had been so protected by her father, so loved and cherished by him, that this side of life was almost foreign to her.

No they did not have much money, they were poor and Christine had always known it, but they had been fine. They had each other.

And now what did she have??

'Let me stay in the house then...' her eyes fixed on his. 'Give me a few weeks to find somewhere to stay,'

'I can't do that,' Gabriele said. 'I already have the house sold.'

She blinked. 'Already?'

He nodded. 'As soon as I found out your father had... er... passed on, as it were, I knew that I owned the house and knew I needed to sell it quickly,'

'You...' she stared at him. 'He wasn't even cold...'

She felt her heart beat wildly as she stared at this repulsive reptile hidden behind the exterior of a God. Is this how she and all other women would be fooled all of their lives, she wondered? By a good looking man, with attractive eyes and a good soft voice who was secretly nothing but an eel.

'You're disgusting,' she said but her voice had no force to it, no power behind it.

He smiled. 'Now, now,' he said. 'It is business, please don't take it personally...'

She took in a breath to stop herself from crying. She would not cry, refused to cry.

'In fact,' Gabriele said, the twinkle returning to his eyes. 'Why don't you let me prove it?'

It sounded almost like a threat.

'Let me take you for dinner,' he said. 'You're such a pretty young thing that it would be ashamed for you to believe that this is in anyway your fault,'

He stepped closer to her, placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned to whisper in her ear.

'I might even be able to give you somewhere to stay tonight,' he whispered, pressing his body to hers. She shuddered.

'That's quite enough of that,' she heard a woman's voice behind her. 'Get your filthy hands off her,'

Christine turned around to face a tall and elegant looking woman. She had black hair, pinned tightly back and dark eyes, she was dressed completely in black and in her right hand was a walking cane.

Gabriele turned around. 'I'm sorry,' he said looking at her but leaving his hand on Christine's shoulder. 'I didn't think that this was any of your concern,'

'Well, then that is your second mistake today,' she said sharply. 'Thinking... or at least attempting to... God would have had to bless you with a brain for that,'

Gabriele dropped his hand from Christine's shoulder and stared at the woman in disgust. Christine thought that he looked just about ready to pounce but she was grateful of this woman's intervention.

'What was my first mistake?' he spat, fury burning in his dark eyes.

'Laying your grubby paws on my Goddaughter,' she said


	6. I'll Be There For You

**Chapter 5- I'll Be There For You.**

Christine followed the tall woman out of the front garden of, what was once, her home. For a lady with a cane and an obvious limp the woman walked incredibly quickly, causing Christine to struggle to keep up. Looking at the woman she did not recognise her from any part of her childhood and wondered if she had simply made up that she was Christine's Godmother just to make Gabriele Aiton back away.

She was certainly an imposing figure, Christine thought, watching her march, head held high, along the back streets of the small village. Every once in a while the lady would look over her shoulder, checking that Christine was still there and, when she saw that she was, the woman gave a simple nod of acknowledgement and refocused on the road ahead.

Christine felt almost out of breath by the time they got back to the church and the sight of it took her back to the funeral. Now Christine remembered this woman's face from earlier in the afternoon, how could she have forgotten? Although the woman had looked solemn she had been the only other person at her father's funeral not crying. The woman led her around to the back of the church where a horse and trap was waiting.

One driver and one beautiful chestnut mare.

The driver, on seeing the woman, leapt from the carriage and removed his hat.

'Madame,' he said, opening the door to the carriage and bowing his head slightly. Christine noted that he was young and broad but not particularly tall. His hair was cropped very short, unusual in this area where there were many farmers who simply allowed their hair to grow. It made her wonder where they were going, the look of the young man and the woman's elegant clothes suggested that neither of her new acquaintances were from this area.

The young man smiled warmly at her and she could tell that he was trying hard not to stare. It was something that Christine had slowly become used to but it had taken her a long time. After so many years of being the ugly duckling she had finally developed in to the swan and now male attention was very difficult to get rid of.

At least he was _trying_ not to look, she thought.

It was unwanted, the attention, and some men certainly took it to extremes. Today she was certainly not interested in making male companions. She had just laid her father to rest after his battle against pneumonia and now she was at a low ebb, lower than she had ever been before. To lose her home had been the final, devastating blow.

Now she found herself sitting in a carriage with a woman she had never met before going to a destination she knew nothing of. Still, she found herself complying and this worried her a little. Weren't people always taught, from a very young age, not to trust anyone. Or perhaps it was just Christine who had been taught this by very protective parents.

It was a few minutes before Christine took her gaze from the fields outside the window to notice the woman in the carriage was staring at her. Christine coughed nervously, a habit she had had since she was young.

'My name is Madame Antoinette Giry,' the woman said, her voice was cool and level, yet there was something endearing about the woman.

Christine tried to smile but nothing came of her efforts. 'You know who I am,' she said, almost a question.

'I do,' Madame Giry responded.

'Are you really my Godmother?' she asked feebly, feeling like a small child in the presence of such an overpoweringly confident woman.

Madame Giry nodded. 'I was a friend of your mothers,' she said. 'I spent a lot of time with you when you were a child living in Paris,'

'Were you at her funeral?' Christine asked.

'I was,' Madame Giry replied. 'I would have seen more of you but... your father wanted to mourn his loss in his privacy, with you,'

Christine said nothing, thinking only of their grief back then. It seemed almost a life time ago yet the memories were often as vivid as if she left them yesterday.

'We all respected that,' she continued. 'But we worried,'

'Did you ever see him?' Christine asked.

'I wrote to him,' Madame Giry's eyes grew sad. 'Eventually he began to write back, but I don't think he was ever the same man my husband and I knew... I wished, always wished, there was something we could do for him but he would take no aid,'

Christine sat in silence thinking of her proud and gentlemanly father. She  
believed what this woman said, her father was simply not the type to take  
people's charity.

'He wrote to me last less that three weeks ago,' Madame Giry continued to speak, her eyes fixed on Christine.' 'Telling me that he felt his time was over... and that he would need someone to care for you,'

'I can care for myself,' Christine said too quickly and immediately wished she could take it back. If Antoinette Giry took any offence she certainly did not show it.

'I have no doubt you would find a way to do so,' she said simply. 'But why struggle when I can help you?'

It seemed a reasonable thing to say but Christine began to feel claustrophobic, as if she were trapped and could not breath.

'Where are you taking me then?' she asked, her throat beginning to constrict.

'To Paris,' Giry said.

'I liked my home where it was,'

'I know that,'

'Then why are you taking me away?'

'I can take you back,' Madame Giry said, her eyes sharp as knives. 'But what will you do then?'

Christine said nothing.

'How will you survive?' she continued. 'You have no roof over your head, no money for food, no work. Will you sell your body?'

Christine was shocked by the statement and sat staring at the woman next to her. How dare she suggest such a cruel thing, who did she think she was? She had spent no time with her the last years... in fact, she had spent so little time with her that Christine could not even remember her. She opened her mouth to berate the women for saying such a rude thing but something inside her made her stop. The woman, this Antoinette Giry, was correct. How could Christine possibly support herself in what was effectively a simple farming community. She had no farm, she had no skills... she was simply a dancer who had lived off her father's limited money.

She nodded. 'Where will I stay?'

'The way I see that...' Madame Giry began. 'Is that you have two options...'

Christine nodded, waiting.

'The first is that you stay with me at my home, with my husband and daughter,' she said. 'You are more then welcome but will be expected to pay your way and do chores,'

'What is my other option?'

'The other is to stay at my place of work,' she said. 'You father informed me that you are a wonderful dancer and I know of a dressing room with a bed. You will, of course, have to pay a rent of sorts to the Patrons of the theatre but I do not see that as being of any consequence,'

'I have no money,'

'Well, the manager had informed me that if I think you are as apt as your father told me then he is happy for you to have a job with the chorus,'

Madame Giry reached out, in a gesture Christine had no expected, and touched her hand. It was the briefest of touches, more of a feather floating past, but the gesture was there. She looked her in the eye.

'It pays quite well but you will not be a rich woman,'

'Could I have the job if I stayed with you?' Christine asked.

'Of course,'

Christine thought for a moment. She thought about living under someone else's roof, being a burden to them day and night. An extra person to cook for, an extra person to allow bathing time for...

'I will take the room at your place of work,' Christine said softly. 'Where is that? Where will I be living?'

'At the Opera Populair,' Madame Giry said, a slight twinkle catching in her eye.

Christine stared at her. 'Really?' she asked, feeling excitement well up inside her for the first time in years.

'Really,' Madame Giry replied.

The Opera Populair, the most beautiful and well known opera house in all of France. Her father had once longed to play there, he had visited often, even managed to see some plays there, but he never got to live his dream. He had always told her of it's utter beauty, of the magnificence of it's structure but she had never seen it for herself.

'I have no clothes with me...' Christine suddenly remembered.

'We have some clothes to give you,' Madame Giry said. 'Don't worry... we could not go into that house to fetch them. Gabriele Aiton is not a nice man,'

'You know him?'

'Not well, fortunately,' she said solemnly. 'I know of him and of his company and _that_ is quite enough,'

'What do they do?' she asked, curiosity spilling from her.

'I'm not sure...'

'Tell me,' Christine demanded and then she shrunk back, suddenly embarrassed  
at her reaction. 'I'm sorry... I...'

'It's fine, child,' Antoinette said. 'I know you're upset... Gabriele owns a bank... for want of a better term... they lend people money or buy them objects they require and then demand high prices of return for them.'

'What did my father borrow?' She asked, her throat suddenly dry.

'Money,' She said simply and turned away.

'What for?' Christine asked. 'We were fine,'

Madame Giry set her eyes upon her. 'I'm sorry, Christine,' she said, softly. 'But things only seemed fine... your father had to borrow money to put food on your table,'

Christine felt more angry than sad at hearing this but Madame Giry's face had changed. Suddenly, she looked heartbroken, a devastated women. It was Christine's first glimpse of her true character of her real person.

Someone with a heart.

'He would accept no help from my husband,' her voice sounded strained and Christine wondered if she might cry. 'I only wish he had,'

'It isn't your fault,' Christine said and she meant it. It was not Antoinette Giry's fault, of course it wasn't. No, it was Christine's fault. She had been so blinded by her own selfishness that she had not even seen what was obvious. How could she call herself a good daughter after this? Oh father, she thought, I am sorry... so desperately sorry.

Antoinette Giry said nothing and most of the rest of their journey past in what could only be described as uncomfortable silence. The sight of buildings in the distance, all clumped together, alerted Christine of Paris. They were now not far from their destination.

* * *

Christine found the room to be comfortable and homely. She had expected something far more crude, with little decoration, but this was far from her expectations. In fact, she would have gone so far as to say she was happy with her new home.

They had come straight to the opera house and she was shown to her room through the back entrance. Apparently, this was the door she would always use to get in and out and the gentleman that had met them gave her a key. Madame Giry showed her to her room and gave her another key for that door before telling her that her daughter would be by shortly with some clothing.

And then she had left.

Now, sitting alone on the soft mattress of her new bed, she surveyed the room feeling sorry that she had not had chance to see the inside of the lobby yet. She had no doubt she would see it at some point. Her room was equipped with the bed and several blankets, all of which seemed warm and comfortable. Their were two chairs, one in the corner and one in front of a dressing table which had a small mirror on it. Right next to the bed there was a wardrobe and chest of drawers, plenty of storage, though what for Christine was not quite sure. The last thing she noticed was a full length mirror attached to the far wall. It was a beautifully intricate addition to the room, the top was curled into scrolls and the bottom flicked out as if it had feet. On closer inspection, though it looked to be rested on the  
floor, you could see that the mirror was almost integrated in to the wall and did not stand on it's legs.

In the corner there were two letters.

_E.L._

She wondered if that was the signature of the person who had created this masterpiece. She touched the side of it, made of metal it was cold under her fingers. Glancing at the glass she caught her reflection and sighed. Her body was covered in black, the symbol of her mourning, and she looked tired.

Instead of exploring, as she had first intended, she decided to lie down for a moment and take some rest. Her father drifted across her thoughts and her memories made her smile. He would be missed by many, and though he had made mistakes, she would love him unconditionally.

But she would not cry.

* * *

A knock at the door woke Christine with a start and she rubbed her eyes, heart thudding, for a moment confused about where she was. Slowly, clarity washed over her and she remembered the day she had had, her father's funeral, losing her home and being carted away by a woman she didn't remember ever having met before.

The knock came again and she stared at the door. She wondered how long she had been sleeping. Pushing herself up carefully she walked to the door and opened it. There stood a pretty girl with blonde hair and sharp blue eyes holding a bag in her arms.

'Christine?' she asked and it was the voice that gave her away. Suddenly, a memory flooded back into Christine's mind of two girls playing on the beach when they were young. One had dark hair, the other blonde and the voice...

'Meg...' Christine choked and instantly, she remembered her.

'Do you remember me?' Meg asked, as if reading her mind. Christine nodded and, without thinking, threw her arms around her childhood friend.

Meg did not flinch away but instead dropped the bag to the floor and hugged Christine back.

'Oh Christine,' Meg said, stepping into the room. 'How beautiful you are!'

'I could same the same about you,' she responded, feeling oddly full of girlish notions of brushing hair and wearing high heels far too big for them.

Meg blushed and sat in the chair, not waiting for an invitation, as if they had never spent more than a minute apart their whole lives. Rather than be offended by Meg's lack of manners, she was heartened by how comfortable her old friend felt and immediately flopped herself back on the bed.

'How are you?' Meg asked, face changing to a sad expression.

'I am quite well, really,' Christine said quietly. 'All things considered.'

Meg nodded. 'I'm sorry for your loss, Christine,' she said. 'How I wish we had kept in touch all of these years... Oh, I hope I can help you now,'

'You are helping me,' Christine smiled. 'You have brought me some clothes?'

Meg nodded and handed Christine the bad. 'They should fit you, you look around the same size as me,'

'Are you in the chorus too?'

'Oh yes,' Meg nodded emphatically.

'Do you enjoy it then?' Christine asked, letting her nerves show for the first time.

'Most of the time I do, yes,' Meg said earnestly. 'It can be hard work,'

Christine smiled. 'I'm sure it can,'

'Do you dance then?'

'Yes, my mother taught me when I was young and I continued it after she passed away,'

'I look forward to dancing with you then,' Meg said with a soft smile, 'But I'm afraid I have to go,'

'I see,'

'Mother has asked that I inform you a carriage will be here shortly to collect you for dinner,'

'I couldn't impose like that,' Christine said. 'Your mother has already been very kind to me,'

Meg smiled. 'She said you might say that and to tell you to come anyway, otherwise how is it that you will eat this evening?'

If she were to admit it, she had not thought of this at all. She had been wrapped up in seeing her home and so tired, food had completely slipped her mind.

'I will see you a little later then,' Christine said.

'You will indeed,' Meg said, hugging her quickly as she left.


	7. Ghost Town

**Chapter 6- Ghost Town**

The only thing that Christine had really come to dislike about her new home was that there was very little natural light in her room. She needed to light her candles or a lantern even in the middle of the day and sometimes it could feel a little bit oppressive. She had to say, though, that otherwise the few weeks she had spent in the Opera house had been fairly pleasant.

Since she had been there she had taken the chance to become reacquainted with Meg Giry and was very glad that she had. It made her wonder, though, why she had, even as children, ever lost touch with her dear friend. Although she liked her home she had to recognise that it was a difficult place to work. Despite her close and developing friendship with Meg, Christine had so far found it difficult to befriend the other girls in the chorus. Their friendships with each other were so cemented and engrained that anything even remotely new was a threat to the way they were. Christine did not like to think of herself as a threat and she did not like that others saw her that way, but for the time being at least, it seemed this was the way things would be. She had, however, taken a silent vow to break this and make them her friends.

She was nearly home from the market when she realised that there was something else that bothered her. Some nights, when she was falling to sleep, she thought that she heard movement from being the wall. She felt too foolish to tell anyone, not even Meg, but still, almost every single night, the sound was there. It was not a scratching noise and so Christine did not think it was rats, it was more of a shuffle. She had convinced herself for the most part that she was imagining it but sometimes it gave her cold shivers along her spine to think that something might be trapped there.

She walked along the side of the building to the back entrance of the Opera house noting, with some satisfaction, that winter had eased to a spring like sunshine. There was still a chill in the air but the biting cold and shivering winds were left behind and the end of March was drawing close. Soon it would be summer. It seemed to sooth any fears she had thinking that soon she would be spending more time outdoors enjoying Paris in glorious summer sunshine.

Summer had always been her favourite time of year, with most flowers bright and in full bloom, animals around and the sun beaming down on her. Yes, she could hardly wait.

She reached out and opened the door to the opera house then closed it carefully behind her. Despite her best efforts the door clunked harshly and she sighed. The door always slammed shut, not matter how gingerly she pulled it to, sending echoes around the dark corridors as if they weren't quite eerie enough already.

She stilled her heart and walked along the corridor towards her room, which was only four doors from the entrance. As her hand touched the handle of the door she noticed, in the dark, something balancing through the door knocker. She fumbled clumsily with the lantern to the left of the door and finally, with much exasperation, got it to light.

In the door knocker was a blood red rose wrapped delicately in a black ribbon. She stared at it silently before checking around her to see if the person who had left it was still around. She saw and heard nothing. Carefully she took the rose from it's resting place and looked for a card, when she saw that there wasn't one she simply lifted the rose up to her face and smelled it's delicate scent.

Fresh, she thought and felt, for the first time in her life, flattered by an admirer.

She held the rose carefully in her fingertips and pushed the door to her room open, a sense of sudden lightness washing over her, and she stepped inside. She supposed that because there was no note with the rose, the flush of excitement she now felt was heightened. The rose was utterly beautiful, Christine did not think that she had ever seen one so bright in colour before and the thought of having a secret admirer sent a warm flush around her neck.

She sat at the stool at the dressing table and rolled the rose between her fingers so that she inspect all sides of it. Looking at it she was tempted to undo the black ribbon, such an odd gesture, but something in her heart made her leave it the way it was. She propped the rose up against the mirror, pride of place, and felt an involuntary smile grace her lips.

She did not feel as though she smiled much at all lately. Since she had been at the Opera Populair she had dug herself into the new work she was doing, practising constantly. The work had buried itself inside her mind and given her a while new drive, a new focus for her attentions. It went someway to helping her forget her old home and to think about her father just a little less. The ambitions that had taken her by surprise, the will to be a brilliant dancer, the idea that she could someday be front of the chorus, this drove her on.

She wanted to be one of the best, one of the greats, perhaps someday she would find some of the accolades that had eluded her father. She would make him proud.

* * *

The taste of the tender chicken still lingered on her tongue. Christine smiled gratefully at the old chef and waved as she left the room. She heard him mumble something about a treat for dinner tomorrow and she felt the lightness in her suddenly reappear. Her mind had not drifted much from the sender of the rose. All day she had been thinking of who it might be. She knew that she had one or two admirers in the opera house but they had always been quite open about their feelings and she had always made it quite clear that she was not interested.

_Who could it be?  
_  
She followed the corridors back towards her room and a sound to her left made her stop and spin around. For a long moment she simply stared, waiting for something to appear, when nothing did she moved towards the dark hallway and peered in. She could hardly see a thing but feeling unusually brave she plunged into the blackness. This was one of the few places in the building she had never been as the door was usually closed and Joseph Buquet, one of the stage hands, had warned her about coming this way. Still, it did not stop her now as she slowly made her way into the dark.

There was another clunk ahead and as quickly as she had found her bravery it was overtaken by fear and cowardice. She turned around but realised that she could see nothing. Reaching out she tried to feel for the walls but she could not touch anything, everything seemed out of reach. She did not know which way was back and which was forward. Her heart thumped, reminding her how lost she was and how scared she had become.

It was then that she heard the voice. She could not make out what it said at first and, frozen to the spot, she swallowed hard and asked; 'What did you say?'

'I said,' much clearer this time, closer even. She felt a chill in her arms. 'What are you doing here?'

'I'm...' she choked. 'I'm lost,'

'Indeed,' the voice was distinctly male, very deep and rich, so smooth that she almost trusted it. 'Where were you trying to get to?'

She looked around her but all she saw was darkness. 'I...' she began. 'I was going back to my room,'

'Surely you know where your room is,' he said.

'I do,'

'Then what are you doing here?'

Christine thought that the voice did not sound angry, instead he sounded almost amused by her presence. She was not sure if this made her more comfortable or distinctly more uneasy.

'I heard something,' she said.

'It was a rat,' he said and she could almost hear a smile in his tone.

'Perhaps it was you,' she said.

He laughed. 'Perhaps,'

'Will you show yourself?' she asked. 'Will you help me get out of here?'

'Aren't you enjoying my company?' he asked and Christine felt hotness creep up her cheeks.

'I can't see you,'

'Would if help you to enjoy my company if you could?' he said.

'I think so,'

Again, he laughed. 'I don't,' he said quickly.

Suddenly, the corridor fell silent. There was no sense that she was with company anymore, in fact, she felt completely alone. The voice had left her and she was frightened and surrounded by a blackness that her eyes simply could not adjust to.

Then, to her surprise, ahead of her a door opened and light flooded into the corridor. She looked around her quickly as she walked towards the door. There was no one there, no one at all. There were no signs of anyone else or of the person who had opened the door to let her out. She stepped through the opening and with a crash the door slammed shut behind her making her jump into the well lit hallway.

She stared at the door, mesmerised and in silence.

'Christine,'

She spun around and came face to face with Meg Giry.

'What are you doing staring at that door?' she asked.

'I...' she began but stopped. What was she doing staring at the door? She stepped forward and pushed it hard but it did not give.

'Christine?'

She glanced at her friend. 'It won't open,'

'It never opens,' Meg said.

'Of course it does,'

'It's locked,' Meg said, taking Christine's arm and pulling her away from the corridor. 'It is always locked, no one has a key to the door.'

'I was just in there,' Christine protested.

'Are you sleep walking Christine?'

'No, no, I am quite awake,' she said. 'I was in there... I was...'

Meg was staring at her in a concerned silence. The door was locked? How could that be? It had just been wide open and Christine had wandered in without any resistance. When she had come out, other than it slamming, she had heard no clicking of a key in the door.

'Are you alright?' Meg asked.

'Yes,'

'You must have been dreaming,' she added.

'Must have been,' Christine said and, heart in mouth, followed her friend towards the stage.


	8. When We Dance

**A/N: Thank you all for the reviews. The first chapters are all background but remember to keep them in mind as you read. These next chapters are also background but soon Erik and Christine will be interacting more. Stick with it and thank you again!**

**Chapter 7- When We Dance**

Sweat trickled down her spine, she could feel the bottom of her back dampen with every move she did, every leap she made. Rehearsal was still not over though and she needed to work hard to make the grade for the new opera. Her arm curled in time with the other dancers and she jumped in the air, swinging her arm back down and around so that it was now tucked behind her. The other girls had done the same, in perfect time, and Christine could feel her nerves start to tingle. Today was the day that Madame Giry made her final decision.

She shuffled backwards on her tiptoes, bowing her head down, so that she fell in line with the other girls around the edge of the back of the stage. Shadow fell on her and she was glad for the moments break as Meg took her turn alone on the stage. She watched as her friend pirouetted and leapt high with her graceful arms out along side her, she looked peaceful as she danced, unconcerned about error, a smile graced her lips. Christine longed to be so agile and respected. Though Meg was young the others saw her as easily the best naturally gifted dancer their. Christine may have expected envy at this, jealous back biting, but instead she found that they befriended her and supported her. Meg was lucky to have such good genes.

Christine and the other members of the chorus moved quickly back onto the stage, keeping themselves low to the floor at first and then standing when they reached the front. She felt the ache in her legs but pushed forward, knowing how important it was to be chosen for the show.

When they music stopped the girls were on the floor, heads bowed, this would be where the curtain was to fall. They waited.

'Very good,' Madame Giry said, walked onto the stage and standing in front of them. 'Stand, stand,'

The girls obeyed.

'You did well,' she said, looking at each of them in turn. 'I will inform you of my decision before the day is out,'

She turned and walked away, disappearing into the blackness behind the stage.

Christine watched after her, a little surprised at the lack of critique but pleased that she could now go and wash.

The other girls had gathered into a huddle in the corner of the stage, Meg was to the side and they were all whispering. Christine was the only one not included and she felt a sudden pang of hurt. Were they whispering about her?

'Do you think he will be pleased?' She heard one of the girls say nervously to Meg as the crowd disbanded.

Meg glanced around her and made a shrugging gesture but she said nothing. Another girl, Janine, walked up behind them;

'He will be pleased,' she said. 'How could he not?'

Again Meg remained silent.

The other girl gave a smile. 'I hope so but he has been displeased before...'

'Don't worry,'

Finally, Meg stopped walking and stared at the two young girls with her. Her eyes were stern and body looked tense.

'Do you two simply not know when to stop?' she asked, with what sounded like fear tinting her tone. The two girls did not reply but looked down at their feet. 'You know what he is capable of yet you continue to act as if you know him... as if it is alright to speak of him here!'

'Sorry,' Janine murmured.

'Don't be sorry to me,' Meg said angrily. 'Don't apologise to me... I am not the one who will be angry,'

'Then who do I say sorry to?' she asked.

'Him,'

'How?'

Meg shook her head. 'Just say it,' she said. 'He will hear... he knows,'

The other girl took a breath and nodded. 'Sorry,' she said, looking up into the air.

Christine stood still and in silence watching the girls nervously part.

'Meg,' she called when Janine had finally walked away. Meg turned and looked at her making no move towards her. Instead, Christine was forced to make her way to her friend.

'You were great today,' Meg said, smiling and squeezing Christine in a brief, yet warm, hug.

'Thank you,' Christine accepted the kind compliment. 'I only hope I am chosen,'

'I am sure you will be,' Meg said. 'You have been dancing really well,'

Christine nodded and smiled. 'Can I ask... erm...'

Meg stared at her in silence.

'What was that?'

'What?' asked Meg.

'What you and Janine were talking about?' Christine replied. 'I'm sorry, I could not help but overhear and...'

Meg shook her head. 'It is nothing,'

'Oh,'

'Really Christine,' Meg said, placing her hand on Christine's arm and squeezing gently. She leaned forward and whispered, 'I can not tell you here,'

Christine nodded.

'I will speak to you tonight, I need to get washed,' Meg said, giving Christine's arm another squeeze.

Christine watched as her friend wandered away and finally, disappeared behind the curtains. Along on the huge stage of the Opera Populair she suddenly felt very small and insignificant. The balconies towered around her and rows and rows of seats stared back when she looked out. Her heart jumped at the prospect of performing on this stage in front of thousands of people from all over the world.

'You should not ask to many questions of poor Meg,'

She jumped and spun around, hand clasping at the material of her dress closest to her heart.

Joseph Buquet smiled. 'She will not tell you herself,'

Christine allowed her heart to slow to it's normal rhythm before she attempted to speak. 'You really shouldn't sneak up on people like that,'

'I didn't sneak up on you,' Joseph said, watery blue eyes fixed on her face. 'You were in a world of your own.'

'What won't Meg tell me?' she asked

'About the ghost,' he said simply.

'I don't believe in ghosts,' she said simply and turned to walk away.

'Maybe you should start believing,' he said.

'Why? What evidence is there of ghosts here,'

'Not plural,' he said, a gappy smile appearing on his face. 'One ghost, only one ghost,'

'Fine,' Christine huffed. 'This one ghost then...'

'You will soon find out for yourself,' Joseph said simply, picking up his mop and beginning to wet the stage.

'How?'

'He is everywhere, mademoiselle,' Joseph responded as he pushed the mop head along the floor, smearing soapy water everywhere.

'I have not seen him,'

Something in this caused Joseph to stop cleaning the floor and laugh hysterically.

'What is so funny?' she demanded.

'He is a ghost,' he said. 'You don't see him...'

'Then how do you know he is there?' she asked, growing a little bit impatient with every passing second.

'How do you know any ghost is there?' he countered.

'Well,' she said. 'As I don't believe that ghosts exist I'm not really sure how you expect me to answer that question,'

'He exists,' Joseph sighed, not laughing anymore, a serious expression looking back at her. 'You will notice things are there that were not before... things will disappear and reappear somewhere obscure...'

Christine listened.

'You will see notes sometimes,' he continued. 'If you have angered him... occasionally he will speak, he destroys things... leaves nooses hanging in the corridors,'

Christine swallowed.

'He runs this theatre,' Joseph sighed. 'Make no mistakes at all, he owns us,'

Christine stared at the stage hand as he continued his task, smearing the boards as he moved sideways. She wondered if now would be a good time to start believing in ghosts. The voice she had heard the other day certainly seemed to come from nowhere yet be all around her in an instant. She could not see him or find him, she could barely see her own hand in front of her face yet he had opened the door for her and then somehow been gone before the light flooded the room.

She was in no doubt now that she had been in that corridor. Had she already spoken to the ghost? And if this were the case, why did everyone seem so frightened of him. If she were honest in her opinion she would have to say that he seemed almost nice...

* * *

Antoinette Giry rolled her eyes at opera manager Lefevre's frantic mumblings. She did not care if he saw her bemusement at the way he reacted to things, in fact, she thought it about time someone told him quite how foolish he had become.

'So you see, Madame Giry,' he said, pacing back and forth like some caged creature. 'I simply cannot allow the girls to go wandering around the corridors like the own the building...'

'Monsieur Lefevre, I hardly think they do that...' she said.

'One did!' he corrected abruptly, standing suddenly still, fixing her with his washed out eyes. 'I saw her, she was wandering around... that new girl, Christine isn't it? Yes, her...'

Antoinette took a deep breath to calm herself and stop her hands from connecting with his throat. It was not as though he was bad type of man but he had no control over himself anymore, no willpower. He had knee jerk reactions to the silliest of things and his nerves were constantly frayed.

'Christine lives here,' she said, in the softest tone she could muster. 'You know that, she was probably going for dinner...'

He was shaking his head so violently she thought that he might shake it off. Briefly she wondered if this would be such a bad thing.

'No, no, no,' he huffed. 'She was attempting to get into the locked corridor,'

Antoinette rolled her eyes again. 'Then you have nothing to worry about,' she said. 'The door was locked, she could not get in,'

'She should not even have been trying,' he said slumping into his chair.

'Oh, Monsieur, she is young, she wishes to explore,' Antoinette said. 'There is no harm done,'

Lefrevre looked up at her with disdain and slammed his hand onto the desk. 'What if he doesn't see it that way??'

She stared at him.

'Well?' he asked. 'Answer me that! What if he doesn't... hmm? That is his corridor, you and I both know it, what if he is angered?'

'I'm sure you would have heard by now if he was,'

He remained silent, picking the skin around his fingers. Antoinette opened her mouth to tell him to stop being so disgusting but stopped herself. She knew that his nerves were completely shot, gone with the wind as it were. He had no backbone anymore because he simply could not explain the goings on of the Opera House.

'Have you heard from him?' she asked finally, beginning to edge her way to the office door.

'No,' he said, his voice hoarse.

'Then one might suggest that he either does not care or has not noticed,' she said but at this statement Lefevre let out a harsh laugh and began shaking his head.

'Hasn't noticed,' he said, chuckling in the most disturbing manner. 'He notices everything, Madame, absolutely everything,'

She turned and opened the door.

'Do you still pay him?' she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

'Yes,'

'Then I am sure he can forgive some inconsistencies,' she said and let the door click shut behind her.

* * *

When she arrived at Christine's room at the back of the theatre she found the door open and Christine brushing dust from her floor out into the hallway for the cleaners. It was a moment before Christine spotted her and in that time Antoinette inspected her Goddaughter. How beautiful she was. She remembered her very well as a child, the dark hair and wide, brown eyes but then she was not pretty.

Not ugly, but not pretty. Rather plain if a person was pushed for a description.

Looking at her now only the chocolate eyes gave her away. She was almost a different person entirely and she had been through a great deal in her short life.

Christine waved and smiled when she noticed her. 'Come on in,' she said, stepping into her room.

Antoinette followed her and closed the door behind her. The room had been made to look very much like a home. Christine had put drapes on some of the walls as make shift wallpaper. It looked tres chic and Antoinette found herself, not for the first time, impressed by the way the young woman had managed to settle in.

Christine shone her a bright smile and sat in the stool near to her dressing table. 'To what do I owe this pleasure?' she asked.

'I need to speak with you,' Antoinette said, thinking that the near truth would be the best option. Or at least the truth that everyone else was used to.

'Oh,' Christine said. 'You look so serious Madame, is everything well?'

Antoinette nodded. 'Nothing for us to be too concerned with... but...'

Suddenly, Christine flashed her a warm smile. 'Let me guess, are you hear to tell me about the Opera Ghost?'

Antoinette frowned, she knew? 'Yes, who ...'

'Joseph Buquet told me earlier today,'

'He should not have done,' she snapped, suddenly concerned for Joseph, _and_ Christine's, safety.

'Why on earth not?' Christine asked. 'I have got the impression that it's really quite common knowledge,'

'Yes, it is common knowledge but we do not discuss it,'

'You are discussing it now,' Christine argued.

'We do not talk about him,' she said simply. 'He is bad tempered and dangerous,'

'A dangerous ghost?' Christine asked. 'What has he done to prove that he might be dangerous?'

Antoinette paused for a moment, wondering how much detail was necessary, how much she should tell her Goddaughter. The truth was different to the rumours, Antoinette knew better than anyone that there was no ghost, but some facts still remained.

Erik stole things, Erik was anywhere and everywhere, Erik had killed...

'Some people have... died under the most unfortunate of circumstances,' she said finally, surveying Christine's face for clues as to what she was thinking, what reaction she would get.

'A ghost that murders people?'

Antoinette said nothing.

'So what do we call this ghost, do we know why he haunts us?'

'Everyone calls him the Phantom,' Antoinette said simply. 'And I suppose he haunts us because we are in his home,'

'Was he here first then?' Christine asked. 'This... _ghost_?'

She shrugged. 'I don't know,'

Christine seemed to think for a moment before wandering to the dressing table and lifting something from the back of it.

'Would a ghost leave a rose?' she asked, holding it out in front of her.

Antoinette's breath caught in her throat as she stared red rose, wrapped in black ribbon. She knew the signature. Erik had sent Christine Daae a rose and Antoinette, better than anyone else, knew what this meant.

'Madame?' Christine's voice shook her from her trance.

'Sorry?'

'Do you like it?' Christine said as if repeating herself. 'Someone left it in the door knocker for me,'

'It's...' _from Erik_. 'Pretty,'

'Any idea who it might be from?' Christine asked and all Antoinette could do in response was shake her head. Her throat was dry and felt as though it was closing up.

She made her excuses to Christine and left as quickly as she could. Part of her so desperately wanted, for the first time in years, to run down to Erik, to speak to him, to know what was going through his mind. She knew that she could not do this...but the sight of the rose meant one thing to her and  
that was that Erik was finding his confidence again and this time his focus was Christine.


	9. Stay With You

**Chapter 8- Stay With You**

It was a warm night and so far Christine was happy with the way the week was progressing. It had only been three days since she had found out that she would be in the new opera and already she was feeling comfortable with the sequences she would have to perform. In fact, she had spent much of the last two days rehearsing and rehearsing because she knew that she now had the chance her mother never had.

She was standing on the rooftop looking out over a quiet Paris as the dark night set in. It was peaceful up here so when she heard a rustling behind her she was startled and spun around, heart racing.

Meg smiled. 'I like it up here,' she said, as she sat on the step by the door.

Christine joined her. 'Me too,'

'What are you escaping from?' Meg asked quietly, staring around her as mist settled over the now dark night.

'Not escaping, as such,' Christine said. 'Just catching my thoughts,'

'He told you then,'

'Told me what?' Christine asked, glancing at her friend.

'Joseph,' Meg continued. 'He tells everyone...' When Christine did not respond Meg simply sighed and turned her face away. 'About the Phantom...'

'Yes, he told me,'

'I saw him,' she said. 'Telling you on the stage,'

Christine said nothing in response.

'He shouldn't have done that,' Meg took a long, deep breath. 'Not on his stage, not even in the building...'

'I don't understand this...'

'Did you know...' she looked back at Christine. 'That this is the safest place at the Opera Populair...'

Christine frowned.

'It is the safest place because he haunts everywhere else, he is everywhere else,'

'This is a little...'

'He is everywhere, Christine, can't you just listen?'

'It doesn't make sense,'

'You'll soon discover that nothing here ever really makes sense,' Meg said. 'If you do as you are told nothing happens... but cross the line, enter a part of the building you shouldn't,,, speak of him in his theatre and bad things happen- horrible things,'

Christine stared silently at Meg, unsure what to say. 'Are you sure this is a ghost and not some... criminal?'

'A criminal who is somehow in every room and every corridor, who hears every word and every whisper?' Meg asked, her eyes wide and fixed on Christine's face.

The silence fell between them and mingled with the darkness of the night. This was the most tense that Christine had ever felt around Meg and she could see, quite clearly, that Meg felt the unease too.

'I tell you because you are my friend,' Meg said softly.

'You're frightened,'

'I have good reason to be,'

Christine blinked. 'Has he hurt you?'

Meg shook her head.

'Then why are you so afraid?' Christine asked. 'If he has never done anything to you, if he has never hurt you...'

'He has hurt others,' Meg interrupted. 'Killed...'

Christine watched her friend as a tear trickled slowly down her cheek. What was she to say now? It seemed so ludicrous that a ghost was in the theatre yet so many people believed it. Meg had seemed so well balanced, so thoughtful, yet this had brought fear to her face and tears to her eyes.

'If the shows go well, if the manager pays his money,' Meg said. 'If we obey him... we remain well,'

'If not...'

'You will hang,' Meg whispered. 'He carries a noose... my mother calls it Punjab Lasso... he kills with it,'

'Who has the ghost killed?' Christine said and on hearing the words felt silly.

'An old caretaker who somehow got into one of the ghosts corridors...' Meg swallowed. 'We found him in the closet... and the other was an old singer we had here who could not stand the thought of someone taking his place... broken neck,'

'Are you sure it was the same killer,'

Meg laughed. 'Same weapon,'

Christine nodded. 'I thought you liked working here,'

'I do,'

'It doesn't seem that way at the moment,'

'Well, I do,' Meg said quickly. 'But a healthy level of fear if essential,'

Meg pushed herself to her feet and held out her hand to help Christine. Meg hugged her friend and then walked towards the door to the stairwell, she turned back to look at Christine.

'It's safe here,' she said and then let the door slam shut behind her.

* * *

Scott Giry sat in the quiet glow of the open fire, cut crystal glass in his right hand, half full with Brandy, and his head in his other. He had come to the slow realisation that his life had become miserable over the last few years. The life he led now was not that of a happy content man, with a family that loved him, with money to play with... he felt none of this anymore.

He saw Antoinette's shadow on the wall as she opened the door before he heard it's creak. Standing to greet her he placed his glass on the mantel and forced a smile.

'Evening,' he said, but his voice did not seem at all like his own. She glanced at him from near to the doorway before closing it behind her. 'How were rehearsals this evening?'

Try to sound pleasant, he thought, try to sound as if you are glad to be here.

'Fine,' she answered, and he was suddenly deflated. She did not sound as though she wanted to be there and he wondered, at that moment, when it was that everything had changed between them.

'Would you like a tot of brandy?' he asked, keeping his tone as light as he could.

'No,' she said, and then checked herself quickly, adding; 'Thank you,'

Scott paused for a long moment, thinking about what he should do and what he could possibly say. He stared at her, let his eyes drift over her slender figure, her dark hair... soft cheeks...

'Why don't you sit with me?' he asked hopefully, watching her face for reaction.

'I need to bath,' she said simply.

'Please,' he choked the word about before he even though it.

Antoinette looked at him, stood there in silence just looking at him as if she barely knew him at all. He could not help but wonder what he had done to her to make her to cold to him. Eventually, she walked into the room and took the chair nearest the fireplace... and furthest from him.

He sat back down, glass in hand. 'Were the girls good today?' he asked, smiling... or at least trying to.

'Some were,'

Scott waited for her to say more but she did not, she simply sat there looking at him. A hardness to her that he had not seen coming, had not seen taking her over.

'And Meg?' he tried again. 'Was she good tonight?'

Antoinette nodded. The silence enveloped them once more, that uncomfortable sound of nothing that now rested on their shoulders. He wondered if she felt it, weighing her down, as he did.

'Where are you?' he said quietly, staring into the bottom of his glass.

She looked at him, he could feel her eyes on him. 'What do you mean?' she asked.

'My Nette,' he said softly, unable to bring himself to look at her. 'Where is she?'

Antoinette opted to say nothing but Scott was not prepared to let this go. Did she not see how she hurt him, how this was killing him?

'I want you back,' he said simply, finally finding the courage to look at her. 'I _miss_ you... I want you back,'

She looked at him, a flicker of something in her eyes. 'I'm here,' she said, but her conviction was not there. Her voice was quiet, timid.

'No,' he said, with a deep sigh. 'You're gone, the real you is gone from here, she is gone!'

With the realisation that he had raised his voice he placed the glass on the table in front of him and buried his head in his hands, feeling his hair fall over his fingertips.

'I...' she began, but stopped.

He looked up at her through his fringe. 'I miss you so much,' he whispered, a desperate plea. 'Is it me? Is it something I did... God... is it my age?'

Silence.

'Tell me!' he said. 'I want to know what I did to lose you!'

'Nothing,' she said softly.

'Then why don't you love me anymore?' he murmured, the words hurting him. He had said it and he knew it, she did not love him anymore.

She stood up, looking down at him. 'Scott...' she said quietly.

'Why won't you tell me why?' he asked.

She walked to him, placed a hand on his head, ran fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes at the touch he had not felt in so long, the softness of the gesture, the warmth of her skin. Antoinette knelt down and took her hands in his, for the first time in months she looked into his eyes, let them stay there.

'I do love you,' she said and Scott actually believed her as she kissed his lips softly.

'Then why...'

She placed her arms around him and pulled him close. He gave in to the pressure and wrapped himself around her, squeezing her body to his.

'Please...' she said softly, into his hair. She kissed it, his heart thumped. 'Don't think that I don't love you... _please_...'

'I don't understand us,' he said, kissing the top of her ear.

She pulled away and looked into his eyes. 'Neither do I...'

'But you... we can try?' he asked. 'We can try can't we??'

A nod, a kiss to his cheeks, so soft. 'We can try,'

He paused, let the weight of the statement fall between them. And what if we try and fail, he thought and he knew that she was thinking it too.


	10. Angel Of Music

**A/N: Thank you as always for the kind reviews.**

**Chapter 9- Angel of Music**

The night had set in fast and though Christine lay silently in her bed with her eyes firmly closed, she was not asleep. She was not even close to sleep. Over the past weeks sleep had come more and more easily to her, as she adjusted to her surroundings, as her soul began to settle. Tonight was an altogether different matter.

Her hands gripped the top of her blanket tightly, so much so that sweat was beginning to pool in her palms. It was the sounds. They were all around her again, not a scraping but the occasional clunk, setting her completely on edge. It was as if they were coming from inside the walls but not one place in particular, it was everywhere.

Slowly, she forced her eyes to open and stared up at the ceiling. With a little more effort she lifted her head from her pillows and glanced around the room. Her eyes adjusted to what little light there was and she saw nothing. Somehow, it did not set her mind at rest.

There was definitely something or someone there.

The next clunk was louder than the others and she sat up straight, dragging her blanket up to her chin.

She found it difficult to believe that there was actually a ghost in the building, or ghosts anywhere for that matter, but something was wrong here. The sound moved again, this time to the left and she jumped, squeezing the covers in her hands.

'Who is there?' she whispered, finding something of a voice deep inside her.

There was no answer, of course, as she listened in silence. The sound did stop, however, as if she had been heard.

She looked down at her arms to make sure she was really there, that she was not simply dreaming.

Taking a deep breath she slowly lowered herself back down so that she was lying on the bed. The darkness that engulfed her was fast becoming her enemy. How she hated not to see what tormented her of the evenings.

She closed her eyes and took in another long stream of air, holding the blanket as close to her face as she could without suffocating.

The next sound almost made her leap right from the bed. She placed her back against the wall to the corridor and attempted to control her trembling. Perhaps she should get out of her room, go down to see if the chef was awake in his area.

'Hello?' she croaked. 'Is anyone there?'

'Did I wake you?'

Christine's heart jumped to her throat and for a moment she thought that she might be having a heart attack. Her breathing was suddenly uneven, her pulse was rapid and uncontrollable. She recognised the voice, how could she possibly forget it? It was the voice she had heard in the corridor.

She tried to answer the voice's question but nothing came from her mouth. Somehow, she had completely lost her _own_ voice.

'Apparently not,' he said.

'I...' she said but could muster no more. There was a long pause and for a second she thought that he may not have heard her.

'I'm sorry I woke you,' he said, his voice like velvet. So smooth, so sweet, so deep.

'Where...' she took a breath and calmed herself. 'Where are you?'

The voice did not answer. She let the question linger for a moment, buying herself more time to completely cool her nerves. When there was no sound after a few minutes she said; 'Who are you?'

Again, she was greeted with a seemingly impenetrable silence. She was not sure she had ever felt so tense in an empty room before or ever found the quiet so utterly suffocating.

'Are you...' she stopped. Don't say silly things Christine, she thought. But still, she could not stop the words from tumbling out. 'Are you the ghost...the, the Opera Ghost?'

It was at that moment that the silence evaporated into a deep laughter, filling the room and, oddly, relaxing Christine.

'Do you think I am a ghost?' he asked.

She thought about how to respond. 'I'm not much of a believer in ghosts,' she said, leaning herself more comfortably against the wall.

'Neither am I,' he said simply.

'Then who are you?' she asked, feeling more confident.

'You know what I am not,' he said. 'Is it not comfort enough to know that I am not a ghost?'

Finding a courage welling inside her she felt a smile creep along her lips. The voice was obviously intelligent, his tone of voice and articulacy told her this much.

'Just because you are not a ghost...' she said with a smile. 'Does not mean you are not the ghost they all speak of here,'

He laughed again and her heart fluttered at it's sound.

'Do you have a name?'

'Yes,' he said simply.

'Should I tell you mine first?' she asked.

A laugh. 'I already know your name, Christine,' he said. 'You have no bargaining chip there,'

'I need to call you something,' she said.

'Call me ghost then,' he said. 'It would appear quite the popular name,'

'But you already told me that you're not a ghost,' she said.

There was silence in response and she wondered if she had angered him. When he finally spoke she felt a wave of strange relief tumble over her.

'What do you think you should call me?' he asked.

'Your name,' she responded quickly.

He laughed again.

'Right...' Christine said, leaning her head back against the wall. 'So you're not a ghost... and you're not going to tell me your name...'

She waited, the voice said nothing.

'So what are you?' she continued, letting a brief pause fall between them.

'You should lie down,' he said. Another change of subject, not too subtle. 'You don't look very comfortable,'

Christine instinctively pulled the blanket up to cover her body again. 'You can see me?' she asked, heart thudding.

'I see most things around here,' he said simply. His tone did not sound quite so jovial now, he was more serious. Christine could not quite decide if he was warning her or trying to frighten her but whatever he was attempting, she was starting to get the picture.

_He saw all.  
_  
She swallowed. 'But you're not a ghost...'

'I don't walk through walls,'

She sat, feeling her hands begin to tremble again. The initial feeling of comfort she originally felt at hearing his voice had all but drained away and fear had replaced it. She suddenly realised how commanding his voice was, the deepness and richness was almost disturbing when he sounded so serious. The joviality of his tone gone she felt as though she was now being warned.

'You're...' she managed to croak out, feeling her heart pound in his chest. '... frightening me...'

There was silence around her but somehow she knew that he was still there. The air seemed thick with his presence.

'Don't be afraid of me,' he said. 'It isn't my intention to hurt you...'

Christine said nothing, unsure of what to believe. Should she trust a voice of a man she could not see? It seemed ludicrous to even think of it. Yet...

'You've been hurt so much already,' he said quietly.

Christine blinked and looked around her. How did he know about her pain? 'How do you know that?'

'I know a lot of things,'

She took a deep breath. 'But you're not a ghost?'

'Not a ghost,' he said. 'Relax, I'm not going to hurt you, I want to protect you... I'm here to protect you, nothing else,'

'Protect me?' she whispered.

'Yes,' his voice was soft now, almost a whisper. So smooth she imagined his lips must taste like chocolate...

She shook her head, shook those thoughts from it. Thoughts she had never had before, never dreamt before. They were there though, they lingered in her mind.

'Why?' she asked.

'Because I like you,'

This time it was Christine who laughed. 'You don't _know_ me,'

'I know you well enough,' he said.

'How?'

He said nothing in response.

'If you are not a ghost then you must be an Angel,' she said. 'If you are going to protect me... as you say,'

Again, there was no answer.

'That's what angels do, isn't it?' she said. 'They protect people and look out for people,'

'You don't believe in ghosts yet you believe in angels?'

'I can believe... if that's what you say you are,' she said softly. 'You see... my father, when I was a child, he told me if he ever went away then he would send me an angel,'

No reply.

'He called him the angel of music,' she said. 'My father... he was a musician...'

'Angel of music?' the voice interrupted.

'Yes,'

'Then I suppose my name is Angel,' he said. 'Now, you must sleep, you have rehearsals early in the morning,'

'I don't think I can sleep now,' she said.

'Why not?'

She smiled in the darkness. 'Well, it's not often a girl gets to meet her angel, is it?'

'I don't suppose it is,' he said. 'But at least lie down,'

She did as she was told, lowering herself back onto the mattress and tucking the blanket around her body. Settling herself into a comfortable position on her side she closed her eyes.

'I will leave you to rest,' he said.

'Do you have to go?' she asked. 'I thought angels watched over you while you sleep?'

His laugh was much softer than earlier. 'Perhaps I can help you sleep,'

'How will you do that?' she asked, continuing their little game, the teasing.

'I will sing to you,' he said. 'I am the angel of music, after all,'

She pressed her face into the pillow, hoping that he could not see the childish smile spread over her lips. Of course she thought that he was joking, she never for one moment expected him to sing to her.

He did though.

As she lay there the silence turned to the rich sound of his voice as he sang an old lullaby. So gentle she felt her body sag into the bed, relaxed and comforted.

It was not long before she felt herself fighting off sleep so that she could listen to his voice. It was no good, she became drowsier and drowsier.

And in an instant, hearing his voice wash softly over her skin, she really did believe her father had sent her the angel of music.

* * *

The tall man walked into the park and stood by the bench in the centre. Unfortunately for him, he was surrounded by trees and therefore could not see or hear anyone coming. It was a fairly warm night, though there was very little cloud cover over Paris. He debated momentarily and then decided it was best for him to sit.

The bench was old and creaked when he put his weight onto it. He glanced down at his pocket watch and could just make out that the hand was edging past the one.

'You're late,' he heard and looked around him. He was here to meet Erik Lambourne, his employer, but by no means his friend. The voice he heard was unmistakably Erik's.

'I thought you said one,'

It's much closer to half past,' he sounded angry.

'Sorry,' the tall man murmured. 'I got held up,'

'I don't like to be kept waiting,'

'I know that,' he said. 'I'm sorry,'

He meant it.

It was then that he caught a glimpse of white from above and looked up. Erik was sitting on a tree branch, legs hanging over the side, white mask peering down.

Erik Lambourne was probably the creepiest man he knew. He had no idea what Erik looked like under his white ceramic but it did not take a genius to work out that it probably was not pleasant. There had been much discussion between his colleagues about what Erik's deformity was, most settled on knife wounds but some liked to think he had been burned in a fire and that most of his body was ugly too.

This mentality came from the fact that Erik was simply so imposing that people needed an outlet. To know Monsieur Lambourne, and to know him well, was to fear him.

And he most certainly feared him.

'Did you get it?' Erik asked.

'Well... sort of...'

'Sort of?' Erik snapped.

'There was only half there...'

Erik jumped from the tree and landed, like a cat, in front of him. 'And what did you do when you discovered there was only half there?'

'I left Louis with him,'

'He didn't kill him did he?'

He shook his head. 'No,'

'And when will the other half be available?' Erik asked.

'Next week,'

Erik frowned but then nodded. 'Fine,'

'That's alright?'

'It will have to be,' Erik growled as he walked away.

'I will see you at our next meeting then,' he called after him.

Erik spun around and, with a smile, said; 'Certainly but next time Gabriele, don't be late,'


	11. Old Friends

**A/N: Excuse any and all typos. Thank you all so much for the kind reviews… going to try and get a lot of chapters up here. **

**I will try to reply to all reviews privately at some point but for those of you wondering you Gabriele is… refer back a few chapters.**

**Thanks again**

**RR**

**Chapter 10- Old Friends**

Antoinette propped herself up on her elbow as the morning sunshine came streaming in through the gap in the drapes. The light rested on Scott's smooth chest and she traced it's outline with her fingertip, causing him to stir awake.

This felt like the only peace she ever got now, as she watched her husband gather his senses. They had indeed been making more of an effort with each other over the last few weeks and so far it seemed to be working. Antoinette did not feel so hardened and so cold when she lay wrapped in his arms and the comfort she found in him made her smile daily.

There were still problems, neither of them was foolish enough to believe that a few weeks of intimacy would solve all of their problems. It was not as if Antoinette did not know that it was mostly her fault that they had become so detached from each other. When Erik banished her from his home her broken heart had struggled to heal.

She had been in love with Erik for many years and, for some of that, she was sure he had loved her too. Their love could never have been, they both knew it. Scott had pursued her with tenacity and determination and eventually, she saw his virtues. He was a most handsome man, tall and smooth, trained as a doctor and making his money from business. Secure and gentle, he was perfect for her. It took sometime but she did fall in love with him, deeply, and when he asked her to marry him there were no reservations on her part... except for when it came to telling Erik.

As it happened he had taken the news quite well and they had managed to remain loyal friends for years after that. At least until that day in the cellar, Erik's birthday, when he sent her away and told her never to return.

It was then that her relationship with Scott began to deteriorate. Of course, it did not help that at this stage in their lives Scott was spending very little time at home. He was so busy with work that Antoinette saw very little of him and instead, spent most of her time either with Erik or with Meg.

But then it was Antoinette's depression at losing her dearest friend to his temper that had finally driven the wedge right between them. Her depression, though she tried to hide it, lasted for sometime and after this she simply felt cooler towards people.

If she could not trust Erik, the man she had once rescued, then who could she trust? And this was the way she began to run her life and her beliefs.

Scott, and their marriage, had been victims of her new way of thinking and though she knew she was aiming her anger at the wrong thing, she could not seem to stop it.

She no longer loved Erik, not in the way she used to, and she knew that she never could again. But she freely admitted that she missed his company, his anecdotes, his way of speaking...

Now she and Scott needed to work on their relationship and rebuild it.

So far, things seemed to be going very well.

Scott reached up and pulled her down to kiss him. When they broke from each other she tucked herself neatly into his body and she held him tight

'Good morning,' he said, his voice crackled. She remembered how much she loved the way he sounded first thing in a morning.

She lay a kiss on his chest. 'Morning,' she said.

'Sleep well?' he asked, fingers stroking her hair.

'Very,' she said. 'And you?'

'Perfectly,' he murmured as he rested his head back against the pillow. 'Are you at the theatre today?'

She nodded. 'It's getting close to opening night now,'

'I'll go into the office later then,' he said.

Antoinette pushed herself up from his chest and swung her legs out of the bed.

'As much as I would love to stay here all day,' she said, standing up and pulling her dressing gown over her shoulders. 'I need to get ready,'

He smiled up at her. 'I know,'

'Would you like me to have Diane bring you breakfast up here as you're in no rush to get anywhere?'

'No,' he said. 'I'll get up, no use wasting the morning in bed.'

Antoinette smiled warmly.

'I'll see you for dinner then,' she said.

'I love you,' he called after her as she walked down the corridor.

She knew that he did. Although they still had problems they were trying, and right now, that was all that seemed to matter.

* * *

Antoinette wandered into the open hall of the theatre and set her bag against the side of the stage. The rooms lights had all been lit and the room had a soft and ambient glow, making her feel warm. She climbed up the steps at the side of the stage and felt the creak of the boards beneath her  
feet as she walked to the centre of the stage. Her hip ached but she did her best to ignore it as she breathed in the scent of the Opera Populair.

'Well, well,' she heard.

'Nadir,' she said, turning to look at him, beaming from ear to ear. 'It's been too long,'

He walked onto the stage and pulled her into a warm embrace. There were no airs and graces, no social formalities, just two old friends meeting again for the first time in a year.

'How was the travelling?' she asked him as he let her go.

'Good,' he said. 'You look well,'

He cocked his eyebrow at her.

'I feel well,' she said.

'Dare I ask?'

'Scott and I are doing much better,'

His dark eyes twinkled. 'I see my dear,'

'Nadir, such a one track mind,' she nudged him in the shoulder.

'Ah, but I'm right,' he said, grinning.

'When did you get back?' Antoinette asked, changing the subject as quickly as she could. The Persian smiled and hooked his bag back over his shoulder as he followed her to the back of the stage.

'Earlier this morning,' he said. 'I'm here in the hope that the room upstairs is still available,'

Antoinette smiled. 'It is...' she said. 'I made sure I kept it for you,'

'Good girl,' he smiled.

Antoinette stopped and looked at him, he was small in size but made up for it in energy, he had dark, thoughtful eyes and his skin was weathered by work and travelling. He had not changed one bit and she was pleased to see him.

'You are a sight for sore eyes,' she said, feeling a pearl of sadness inside her.

He looked at her, gauging her. 'Is everything alright?'

'Yes,' she said, with a nod.

'Are you sure?' he asked.

She looked at her hands, wondering where her resolve had gone.

He waited for a moment, Antoinette wondered what he was thinking.

'Have you seen Erik?' Nadir asked.

She shook her head. 'I think it's been over four years now,'

'Is that what's bothering you?' he asked, eyes watching her face.

'Not exactly...'

'But Erik is bothering you?'

She looked at him. 'There is a girl, my goddaughter, Christine... she lives in the opera house now and Erik would appear to have taken a shine to her,'

'I see,'

'Don't look at me that way, Nadir,' Antoinette said. 'This is not jealousy, I promise you...'

'Then what is it?' he asked.

'I'm worried for her...'

He nodded. 'I'm sure he won't...'

'Hurt her?' she interrupted.

He nodded in response.

'I know he wouldn't hurt her,' she said. 'But you know how he is... how obsessive he becomes...'

Nadir stood in silence as if scared to speak, scared to say what both of them knew.

'I will go and speak to him,' Nadir said. 'That's if he isn't listening to us now...'

'He won't be,' Antoinette said with a confidence that came from knowing Erik. 'This is one of the few times a day when he tries to sleep...'

'I remember,' Nadir smiled.

'I'm worried for her...'

'How did you find out about this?'

'She had a rose in her dressing room dressed in a black ribbon,' she said. 'As a signature goes...'

Nadir gave her sharp nod. 'I'm not sure how much good it will do... me talking to him,'

Antoinette had a feeling it would not do much good either but she thought that they at least needed to try. She worried for Christine but secretly, deep inside her, she worried for Erik too. How would he cope with a rejection if it were to come? Antoinette had known about his face, had grown with him, become used to it and realised that it was part of who he was... for a new woman it would be shocking.

Then there was another though; what if she did not reject him, what if she fell in love with him as Antoinette had? How would they live their lives? In sin? It must be because Erik would not be able to marry in public and even in privacy he would have problems. Could Christine cope with slinking about beneath the opera house, in secrecy, in seclusion? Simply because Erik was happy with this life did not mean that other's could deal with this, could live their lives that way.

Antoinette had known she couldn't.

'We must try,' she finally said to Nadir.

'Perhaps you should come and see him with me,'

'I don't think so,' she said. 'It's been too long to build bridges,'

'You don't miss him?' Nadir asked, watching her again.

'You know I do,' she said. She paused and took a breath; 'Does he ever ask about me?'

Nadir looked down at his hands.

'No, then,' she whispered.

He simply shook his head in response.

'That's fine,' she said brusquely, as she moved behind the curtains.

'You know how he can be,'

She nodded. 'Yes, I certainly do,'

Nadir looked at her and Antoinette spotted a sadness in his dark eyes. She thought that he was probably wondering what on earth he had come back to. He should have known that, that she and Erik would still not be friends. When Erik made decisions he tended to stick by them, no matter what consequences might occur.

This stubbornness had landed him in trouble on more than one occasion, which was how his meeting with Nadir had come about. Not long after Antoinette had settled Erik into the opera house she found that she had a suitor of sorts. A young British man by the name of Benjamin. He was kind enough but he had taken it up on himself to follow Antoinette everywhere she went.

One night, Erik caught the man following her and got it into his head that he would kill the poor boy. The plan almost came to execution, as it were, but as he lowered the rope around the boys neck Benjamin grabbed it and tugged. Nadir was just walking around the corner when it happened and chose to save Erik rather than Benjamin.

He grabbed the rope and asked the boy what he was doing with the stage prop... to which Benjamin got very confused, stammered and stuttered and wandered away.

Erik rewarded Nadir with a friendship, of sorts.

And so all three of them became close friends, though Erik was the more distant of them. Choosing the times where he was prepared to be social. Sometimes when she watched Nadir, she thought that he was a little scared of Erik. Although he gave him his full and honest opinion, he stood quite a long distance away when he did it.

Nadir had once said that he didn't think that Erik was, in his words, 'quite as sane as he could be,' and to a certain extent Antoinette was forced to agree with this. Still, Erik's problem wasn't necessarily insanity, it was more depression. He most certainly wasn't a psychopath or anything of that description... he did have a heart.

True, it was a heart that had been hurt and broken, a should more battered and bruised than any she had known. For a boy to be rejected by his mother must be the hardest of pains. Erik had lived through this, through the beatings and rejection and finally, he had found comfort in his solitude, found some strength in the night.

He had found enough heart in him, enough feeling, to love her, to befriend Nadir, to protect them and now, to find attraction in Christine.

She just hoped that he did not fall too deeply, too quickly.

After all, it had not taken him very long to force Benjamin away.


	12. Show Must Go On

**Chapter 11- Show Must Go On**

It had been nearly a month since the last time Christine had heard the sounds at night when she was in her room. _Coincidently_, it had been nearly a month since she had spoken to the voice also. It was fairly obvious the noises and the voice came from the same origin and since their conversation, in which he told her he was not a ghost, they had not spoken.

She had slept a lot better though.

She hated to admit it to herself, but she had been longing for the voice's company since that night. Or at least, she had been desperate to hear him sing again. There was barely a night past by that she did not think about his voice, about how it had soothed and relaxed her, made her fall to sleep.

He truly was an angel of music, and somehow the thought that her father had sent him was breaking through her usually solid scepticism. But what a beautiful voice he had.

Early on, after they had spoken, she would sit awake in the night waiting for him to come. He didn't, not now, he never did. Christine wondered if she had said something to offend him, or make him feel he must not return. It was true that he had frightened her, especially the revelation that he could see her, but she thought of him now constantly.

When he had sung, she had felt safe, and it had been a long time since she had felt that way. There was just something about him, something about the texture of his voice, something about the authority in his tone when he spoke... something about the purity in his voice when he sang.

She knew it was ridiculous, which is why she had not told anyone about it, not ever Meg but the more she tried to banish the thoughts of him from her mind the more he came back into it. Oddly, she barely ever wondered what he looked like. It was strange that she could see him as only a voice, and to her it did not matter if he was the tall handsome stranger most women would like.

For now, the voice was enough.

She pulled on her ballet show and tied it carefully around her ankle. She took a quick glance through the curtain and saw the packed theatre, audience members waiting to see the show. For the first time since rehearsals began she felt truly nervous.

Madame Giry had told her that since the murders in the Opera Populair business had been fairly good, regardless of what Opera they were putting on. The plan was for this show to run almost the entire year whilst the manager, Monsieur Lefevre, and the various producers got their heads together about a new direction for the following year.

According to the ballet mistress, the only sell out nights for this opera so far, were the first few nights. She said that this was unusual but with there being no recent events and that the shows lately hadn't been of a particularly high standard, no one wanted to come.

It didn't appear that she had high hopes for this show either, though she at least seemed pleased with the chorus. Christine could see her point, with the main characters being played by people who were becoming too old or too weak to carry a show. In some instances it was blatantly obvious that the singer no longer wanted to be there.

Christine could not understand this at all.

It had been her dream for many years to some day perform at the biggest theatres in the world. She was sure that her mother had had these dreams too. She did think it strange that the biggest bit of luck she ever had was also the saddest day of her life. Had her father not passed away and her home been taken from her then she would never have met Madame Giry, and never moved to the Opera Populair. Her father had looked out for her even in his death.

She looked at the clock behind her, it was nearly ten minutes before she and the rest of the dancers were due on stage for the first time. She decided to take a walk to calm her nerves.

The exit from backstage was just behind her, it led into the back corridors of the opera house and she walked out, slowly pacing back and forth. It was darker than she had expected it to be and there was absolutely no one around at all.

It was just her and the silence until she felt the gloved hand curl around and cover her mouth. She tried to scream but the hand muffled her cries for help.

As she was about to sink her teeth into the attacker he said, 'Shh...' and she recognised the voice immediately. Instantly, she felt her body relax, her heart slow and her mind rest slightly.

'Don't shout,' he whispered into her ear and she felt the warmth of his breath tickle her skin. She shook her head and as she did he lowered his hand from her mouth to her waist. 'Don't try to turn either,'

She nodded. 'Alright,'

His other hand reached around and held a rose out in front of her, blood red, tied in a black ribbon. She took it from him.

'Good luck tonight,' he whispered, and she felt his grip on her loosen. She stood still for a moment but was unable to control her curiosity and spun around to see him.

The only problem was... he was not there.

* * *

Antoinette paced back and forth, back and forth, behind the curtain of the stage. She could hear the music coming to an end and knew that it was nearly time for her girls to go on stage.

She was missing one girl, though.

'Where is Christine?' she asked, the girls looked at her blankly. Even Meg shrugged her shoulders as she was checking that her shoes were tied tightly.

She was about to ask Joseph Buquet when Christine walked in through the back door holding a rose.

She walked to her. 'Where have you been, child?'

Christine looked at her, eyes wide, hands on the rose.

'You're on in less than a minute,' She said.

'I'm sorry,' Christine whispered. 'I got held up,'

'That's not good enough, Christine,' she said but could not take her eyes away from the rose.

'It won't happen again,'

Antoinette sighed and nodded, pointing her in the direction of the other girls who were all already in position. She noticed a few of them give Christine a hard look, and felt immediately sorry for her God daughter... she could not show any favouritism though. Not for Meg and certainly not for Christine.

Antoinette walked up behind Christine. 'Give me the rose, I will put it in your room,' she whispered.

Christine handed her the rose.

'Where did you get this one?' she asked.

'Someone gave it to me,' Christine replied.

'When?'

Christine glanced up at her. 'Just this minute, in the corridor out the back,'

'Actually... handed it to you?' Antoinette asked.

Christine nodded.

'So you saw your admirer?' she said, choosing her words as carefully as she  
could.

'No,'

'Then how did he give it to you?'

Christine blushed crimson. 'He snuck up behind me and handed it to me,'

'I see,' Antoinette said as she glanced down at the rose now in her possession. Nadir's talk with Erik did not seem to have done the trick and she stood there watching her dancers go on stage, she felt an ache in her heart.

Was she so sure that she was not still in love with Erik?

* * *

When the final curtain fell on the whole cast Christine released sigh of relief. Her first performance in front of an audience and she had succeeded in not making a fool of herself. In fact, she thought she had done quite well. Of course, Meg was absolutely brilliant, as she usually was and the other girls all did their parts well, but Christine was happy with her performance.

Even Madame Giry had seemed pleased when they all came pouring off the stage and into the dressing areas. She smiled and patted Christine on the shoulder, telling all the girls how well they had done and because of this could take the day off rehearsals tomorrow.

Christine was excited at having an extra day off. She would probably spend it at the market or walking, she was not going to practice at all tomorrow.

She opened the door to her room and locked it behind her, feeling the need for a relaxing evening. When she lit the lamps she saw the rose she had been given in the middle of her dressing table and smiled. Slowly she began to take her clothes off, and put her night gown on... it had been a long night and she wanted to go straight to bed.

She walked to her dresser and lifted the rose from the top. Carefully, she held it to her nose and breathed in the scent. So the voice was her admirer? She felt herself blush at the thought but she felt warm to the idea.

He was _definitely_ her admirer.

Then she did something she had not done in all the years since her mother had passed away, she began to sing. The lightness she felt in her heart, came out in her voice, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the freedom music gave her.

It wasn't until she heard the clunk in the walls that she stopped singing and looked around her.

'Hello?' she said but was greeted with only the quiet hiss of the gas lamp.

She waited for a few seconds to hear if there were more sounds from the walls, but there were none.

'Angel?' she asked. 'Is that you?'

'You have a beautiful voice,' he said, finally.

Christine blushed at the thought that someone had heard her, particularly her admirer, who literally had the voice of an angel. She felt nervous, at once, knowing that he was there.

'Not like your voice,' she said softly, embarrassed.

'You have a very raw talent,' he said, not fishing for more compliments, not dwelling on the one she had already given him. She liked this, his modesty.

'Thank you,' she managed to say, feeling her heart swell with pride.

'It's not perfect,' he said and she felt deflated. 'But I can teach you,' 'Teach me?'

'Train your voice,' he said confidently. 'To help you to control it,'

'I'd like you to teach me...' she said softly, thinking of how much she wanted to hear him sing, how much she wanted to spend time in his company. Perhaps she was being foolish, she had the feeling that she probably was, but she found it hard to get him from her thoughts.

She wanted to know him, to listen to him, to learn from him.

She wanted to spend time with him.

'When would you like your first lesson?' he asked, and she could tell he was pleased. The depth of his voice had become slightly lighter.

'I don't have to rehearse tomorrow,' she said, 'Dancing... I mean...'

'Tomorrow then?' he asked.

'Anytime...'

'I will speak to you tomorrow then,'

Christine stood. 'Will you come out?'

He laughed. 'No,'

For some reason Christine knew not to push this. In the very few encounters they had, had with each other she had come to realise that he was not a man to be taken for granted nor pushed on any subject. Even to her, now, it was obvious that he was completely in control and the worrying thing was that she did not care. She was more than happy to be under his control.

'What time tomorrow?' she asked. 'What time will you be here?'

There was silence for a moment, before he answered; 'I'll be here when you are,' he said. 'Don't worry, I will find you,'


	13. Piano Man

**Chapter 12- Piano Man**

Nadir was giving Erik that look again. That one a person often saw when a child had disappointed his or her parent. Erik scowled back and Nadir flinched away. With some satisfaction Erik returned his concentration to his piano and continued to play, letting his fingers glide across the keys smoothly.

Still, he could feel the Persian's eyes on him and it made him distinctly uncomfortable. Without turning around he said; 'You're irritating me, Daroga,'

'I haven't said anything, Erik,' came the reply. 'It is your own conscience irritating you,'

Erik abruptly stopped playing and turned slowly on the bench, so that he was facing Nadir. The small man stared back at him this time, in a brave, yet somewhat foolish, stand of defiance.

'I have no conscience,' Erik said simply, feeling a slow burning in his stomach.

'Of course you do,' Nadir responded, keeping his distance. 'We all do,'

'You speak to me as if you and I are alike in someway,'

Nadir did not answer this and Erik saw a glimmer of fear in his eyes. Never one to waste an opportunity...

'What is it, exactly, that makes you think that I am like you?' he asked, staring hard at the Persian, making sure he understood the intensity, understood the position he was in. Erik controlled this room, this was Erik's domain.

'I am speaking of human nature in general,' he swallowed but stood his ground. A lesser man than Erik might have been angered by this but Erik found some respect for this stance.

_Some_.

Erik smiled. 'Which would suggest that I am human,'

'You are as human as I am,'

'I am no more human than a dog,' Erik growled.

'Of course you are,'

'I feel none of your strange guilt, Daroga,' Erik snapped.

'Everyone...'

'Will you come back at me with the same pathetic argument that I just shot down??' he stood, feeling an overwhelming sense of annoyance, of anger... 'Not everyone feels guilt, not everyone has a conscience, trust me!'

'Yet you feel love,'

'Not love,' Erik snarled. 'Lust,'

'For Christine?' Nadir asked, stepping back slightly. Giving Erik space. 'It is lust... the roses are a sign of lust...'

Erik stared at him, blind rage filling his body like a lake until he felt almost overcome with it. He was not accustomed to keeping his temper and if Nadir insisted on pushing him he would show Nadir just how it could run.

_'Listen_,' he growled, catching Nadir by the arm and flinging him backwards, but keeping hold oh him. 'I will do I want to, _when_ I want to... I will not be dictated to by some lowly retired police officer...'

'Erik,' Nadir shouted, tugging his arm frantically out of Erik's grip. 'What are you doing?'

Erik pressed Nadir to the wall. 'Do not think you can tell me what I can do, don't think that because you are my friend I will not hurt you...'

Nadir winced. 'I know, I know... you're hurting me now,'

Erik blinked, back to reality, his temper returning to normal. He let go of Nadir's arm, which was now red and looked sore.

'I'm...'

'Sorry?' Nadir asked, rubbing the skin that Erik had pinched with his fingers.

Erik said nothing.

'Sorry suggests guilt,' the Persian said simply.

Erik blinked and then turned his back on the smaller man. He had not time for this, nothing should be keeping him away from Christine, nothing at all. So far today the Persian had taken up far too much of Erik's time and he was bored with it.

'I'm going,' He said simply.

* * *

It took time for Erik to get from the cellars of the opera house to the corridors behind the walls of Christine's room. When he reached the two way mirror he was reminded of why it was there in the first place. No one knew about it except for him, of course, but he had put it in many years ago for Antoinette Giry's protection.

All those years ago, when they were both much younger, Antoinette had managed to find herself a little stalker. Of course, she had been flattered by the attention given by her admirer but when she came back one day to discover him waiting in her room for her a decision had to be made. Erik made the mirror by hand, it took him a little over a month, but it was a bit of a masterpiece.

He had had to be careful to hang the mirror on a wall adjacent to the corridor backing up to her room. When she was out he would then carefully take the bricks from the wall until he could see through the mirror and into Antoinette's room. Now, when she was out, he monitored the room to ensure no one entered it without being invited. Back then he did not have the nerve to come here when she was in the room herself.

He had not spoken to Antoinette in what could have been just over four years. Since that day he had kept very little track of time but he was sure that he was probably twenty nine years old, making it over four years since his twenty fifth birthday... when he told her to leave and never return.

He wished he could say that it was the best thing he had ever done, but of course, he had missed her. Particularly the first few months where he noticed a hunger in him because she no longer brought him home baking. The loneliness, however, began to bother him less and less and suddenly he realised that darkness was a good friend of his.

Late at night he began to go out, dressed in black, cloak on his shoulders and a hat pulled down to shadow his face. He enjoyed his little jaunts out alone, occasionally putting the fear of God into some unsuspecting drinker. Though he did not think the general public found it very funny he was, at least, amused by it.

Erik did notice, though, that Nadir seemed to visit less and less, choosing his travelling over his friend. That began to matter less to him too, and before long he felt, for the first time in his life, self sufficient.

It was a problem, at first, having no visitors, as his food stash had begun to run a little low. Not that he needed to eat much but, as nature would suggest, he did get hungry. He knew as well as any reasoned man that food was a necessity to keep the body functioning. He had read that without food eventually your body would begin eat itself... of course, you could live longer without food than you could without water. At least this was one healthy thing that Erik did, he drank plenty of water.

After a while, feeling the pains of hunger in his stomach, he had started to steal morsels of food. This was not good for him, not at all. The food was not a patch on what Antoinette had served to him and there was no way he would settle for such mediocrity. So, he started to make his plans and then money began to pour in.

A sound in Christine's room made him stir from his thoughts and glance out through the mirror. She had just arrived back with her arm hooked through a basket full of fruit.

He watched her quietly for a moment, an unfamiliar dry sensation clogging his throat. Opening his mouth to speak he realised that he could not, that the words had died in his mouth as his eyes fixed on Christine's innocent beauty. She placed the basket on the chair in the corner of the room and walked to her dressing table, lifting the rose that he had given her. She ran it over her lips, and Erik watched as the red of the rose merged with the colour of her lips, for a moment they were one. She put the rose down on the table top and glanced at herself in the tall mirror. Slowly she walked over to it and looked at herself, staring at her face. Erik thought that she looked disappointed with what she saw there, her dark eyes were clouded with sadness. She reached up and touched the spot of the mirror where Erik imagined that the reflection of her face would be.

Erik, without thinking, reached out too and placed his fingertips on the glass so that they were touching hers.

He wished they were touching hers.

She stood there for a long moment, for a second he even wondered if she could see him. He let his hand fall down to his side, disheartened. How could she ever want him? He had been cursed with a monster's face and a monster's soul, there was no good in him that could match the goodness in her.

He did not deserve her... yet he wanted her.

Nadir had been right. This was not a simple case of lust for Erik, there was more there, more to it. He felt it in his heart the second he saw her face, or heard her voice, or watched her dance.

Shaking himself out of it, he stepped back away from the mirror to compose himself. He took a deep breath and chastised himself inwardly for being so weak. When he felt that he was calm, and ready, he stepped back towards the mirror.

Christine had moved away now and was lying on her bed.

'Christine,' he said, as gently as he could. He knew that she was probably waiting for him now but he still did not want to startle her.

She sat up and looked around her. Still trying to find him. He found that she had a curiosity like no one he had ever met before. He appreciated this, it reminded him a little of himself.

'Angel,' she said, not a question, a simple statement of fact. He wondered if it would be a word he could get used to, a name he could ever fit to himself.

_Dark angel_, possibly.

'Are you still there?'

He blinked, realising he had been silent for too long. 'I am here,' he said, watching her.

'Are you here for my lesson?' she asked.

'Yes,'

'Where should we start?'

He paused, unable to take his eyes off her. 'Just sing,' he said, finally. Trying not to sound like the pathetic excuse for a man he had recently become. 'I will listen, take notes,'

Of course, he wouldn't take notes, he didn't need to. Erik would simply listen to her voice, pick up on the tremors and faults and store them in his mind. He had never needed to write things down, his memory was too good for that.

'What should I sing?' she asked.

'Anything you feel comfortable singing,' he said simply.

She gave a nod, at what he did not know, but she closed her eyes. He waited, air catching in his throat as he gazed at her, for her to sing. When she opened her mouth he too closed his eyes, letting her voice lift him. He had never before heard such a brilliant, untrained voice, the rawness and thenatural talent were hard the believe and he took in a breath as he listened.

'Wishing you were somehow here again,' she sang, 'Wishing you were somehow near, sometimes it seems if I just dreamed, somehow you would be there...' (1)

It was a song Erik had never heard before and when he opened his Christine's hand was near her heart and she was singing without thinking. Then he realised that this would not be a song he would have ever heard of, because she had written it herself.

There were some notes that sounded off key and her voice quivered in places where she was obviously straining to reach the note. Otherwise there would be no difficulties in perfecting her voice.

'You can stop,' he said, cutting her off, keeping control. She had to know that he was in control.

She opened her eyes and gazed around her as if adjusting her eyes to the room for the first time.

'Was that...' she paused. 'How did I sound?'

'Good,' he said simply. 'It will take hard work to get you up to a leading lady status but I'm sure with a little persistence it can be achieved,'

She nodded.

'You must be willing though,' he said firmly.

'I am...'

'Willing to practice and perfect this... it won't be easy, Christine,' he said. 'I don't want you to have any misgivings about this,'

'I understand,' she said.

'And you still want to learn?'

She looked around her. 'Do you really think I can be good enough to lead in an opera?'

'Of course,' he said, a little irritated by the question. 'I wouldn't have said it if I didn't,'

'Than I will work as hard as necessary,'

'Early nights,' he said. 'Early mornings,'

She nodded at his commands.

'Lots of water...' he said. 'No tea... strictly no tea,'

Again, she gave a nod.

'You will be in this room promptly at seven in the evening for your lessons with me when you aren't performing, do you understand?'

'Yes,'

'No question, seven,'

'I understand,'

'This does not mean that you can afford to not practice on your own,' he said. 'When I am not here you will rehearse...'

'And the dancing?' she asked.

'Do exactly as Madame Giry tells you for the time being,' he said. 'But remember who can make you the person you want to be... dancing is not your passion, singing is, music is... I can tell by your voice...'

She nodded.

'Don't waste your talent,' he said and before she could answer, before he could get drawn into more than he wanted to, he decided there would be no lesson that day and he left.

* * *

**A/N: (1) 'Wishing You Were Somehow Here' – Act Two, Phantom of the Opera. **


	14. Animals

**A/N: Thank you for the kind reviews… I say it at the beginning on every new post but I mean it. Stick with it… you might be a bit bemused soon but slowly it will all knit together!**

**RR**

**Chapter 13- Animals**

The room was dark, no lanterns on, no candles flickering, drapes drawn closed to hide him away from his ever closer doom. The thought of the light penetrating into the room was enough, now, to make him shiver with dread. The patron's were talking about pulling out, and the cast was unsettled. If the patron's did not pull out Lefevre would almost certainly lose his job.

He sighed, felt the familiar ache in his heart. He might seem like a fool to the people around him but he was no idiot. Life had always been good to him before, blessing him with a pleasant disposition. It all started to take a downward turn just over three years ago. The first murder, the first demands for payment.

At least then, though, the sound of murder had people queuing expectantly around the block. At least then business was good for the famous Opera Populair.

Now what was left was a shell of it's former glory, a hollow case of the thing that he had always loved the most. It was his joy, his passion, his truth... this opera house and now, to see what it had become, broke him.

The knock at the door startled him, he was not expecting any company and was half tempted not to call the visitor in. Paranoia kicked in again and he sat up straight, with a small groan escaping his throat, what if it was the theatre patron?

'Come in,' he said, making no attempt to neaten himself up.

Antoinette Giry walked in, head held proud as always, and she looked around her. 'Good grief, Monsieur Lefevre,' she said, sounded astonished as she walked to the window. 'You can not sit in the dark all day and wallow in self pity,'

She threw open the long drapes and the spring sunlight gushed into the room like a waterfall of brightness. He squinted against the angry glare, holding his hand up to shade his eyes, allowing them time to adjust.

'What are you doing?' she asked, her face full of bewilderment. She did not understand, how could she? _He was a failure_.

'I am sitting in the dark,' he said, looking around him. 'Or at least... I was,'

'Why?' she demanded.

'I liked it better than the sun,' he said simply. What did she want from him?'

Her eyes set upon his face and for a moment an uncomfortable shiver crept along his spine. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and even; 'Monsieur Lefrevre, what this opera house does not need at this moment in time if you falling apart, do you understand that?'

He said nothing, what was there to say?

'A manager is supposed to bring structure and guidance yet you choose to give in,' she continued.

He felt an unusual anger simmer in him. 'What?' he said. 'Do you want my job?'

This time it was Madame Giry's turn to remain silent. It was a different silence, he noted, different to the one he had given. Her silence was full of confidence not uncertainty. She was waiting for him to continue to speak, to explain himself.

'We are three weeks into the new show and our ticket sales have dwindled to the point where I am considering pulling the show,' he said simply, a sigh of resignation allowed to part his lips. 'We have no pull anymore... part of me... _most_ of me thinks this place would make a much better museum...'

'Don't be foolish,' Madame Giry snapped.

'Why foolish?' he asked. 'Why is it foolish to want what is best for this theatre?'

'What is best for this theatre is commitment,'

He shook his head. 'I have always been committed to it's well being, you know that as well as anyone,' he let his head drop into his hands, despair washing through him. 'It is my child,'

'Then nurture it,'

'How?' he snapped back, head up now, staring at her. 'How can you nurture something that is already dead?'

Giry's eyes glowed with anger. 'It is not dead but you are watching it _die_!'

'There is nothing I can do,'

'You have not even tried,'

He scowled. 'I try more than you know, everyday I try... everyday is an effort,'

'You are turning into a joke,'

'How dare you...'

'How dare _I_?' she growled. 'How dare I... _what_? Accuse you of doing exactly what it is that you are doing? How dare I stand up for this theatre when you have obviously given up any hope for it's survival?'

He fell silent, suddenly the churning in his stomach returned but the fire was gone. Why fight a losing battle? Perhaps she was right.

'What do I do?' he said quietly.

Antoinette's face grew somehow sympathetic as she looked at him. He welcomed her pity, as he would welcome any emotion in his life.

'Rescue her, Monsieur Lefevre,'

'How?'

She walked to the desk and pulled the chair out, sitting opposite him. She leaned across the table and looked at his face, into his eyes.

'You have to decide what the theatre needs,' she said. 'What any theatre needs,'

He paused, throat dry. 'Stars,'

She nodded, 'Vibrant, spectacular, stars,'

'But how do we get them here?'

She stared at him.

'How do you get a huge star to appear at a flawed and failing theatre?' he continued.

'Their egotistical nature, Monsieur Lefevre,'

Finally, he felt his heart thump and a smile press against his mouth. 'Of course,' he whispered. 'Only they can bring the Opera Populair back to it's glory days!! Of course...'

Antoinette Giry stood and smiled down at him. 'It is not over until it is over, remember that,'

'I will,' he said, also getting to his feet. 'I need to send some telegraphs,'

'Good luck' she said as she reached the door.

'I will most probably need it,' he said to no one but himself as the door closed behind her.

Left alone with the silence of the room once more, his initial elation was overtook by sadness again.

This was probably the opera populairs last chance and he knew that they needed to get it right. The biggest stars would certainly draw the biggest crowds but his problem was making the Opera Popular draw in the biggest stars.

And then there was the small matter of the Phantom of the Opera.

* * *

Gabriele Aiton stood outside the door of the house on the outskirts of Paris. Louis had been in with the _'subject'_ for over half an hour and there was still no sign of either of them... or the money. He had heard clattering and banging around, a few yells but nothing of much consequence. It was making him more and more nervous by the second.

Gabriele glanced down at his pocket watch and noted another five minutes had come and gone. He stepped towards the door and pushed it open with his fingertips. Stepping inside he saw blood on the wall but no sign of Louis or the subject.

'Louis,' he called out, walking through the small hallway into the kitchen.

'In here,' came the other man's reply. 'In the pantry,'

Gabriele stepped over a small pool of blood and pushed the door open to the pantry. Louis' broad shoulder's cast a wide shadow over the subject, who was lying, face caked in blood, on his back. Gabriele winced at the sight of the bruises and blood, he was a strong man but never one for getting his hands dirty.

'Well?' he said, moving his eyes from the subject up to Louis.

Louis' dark eyes fixed on Gabriele and he shook his head. 'He still says he hasn't got the money,'

Gabriele sighed and reached down, lifting the man up by the scruff of his neck. 'This just won't do,' he said simply and then dropped him back to the floor.

He turned and walked out of the pantry. 'Louis, keep him there,'

He walked out of the house and onto the front garden, which was modest by anyone's standards. It was fairly obvious that he had not put his loan to good use and judging by the stench in the house it was safe to assume the money had gone on alcohol.

Still, Gabriele knew the man had, had a win in a local gambling circuit a few days ago and therefore knew that the money was somewhere in the house.

Unfortunately, after turning it upside down, none had been found.

Walking up the garden path he straightened his jacket out and kicked the head off a small yellow flower at the side. When he arrived at the gate he took a deep breath and approached the carriage.

He knocked on the door and it swung open.

Gingerly he climbed inside and sat himself opposite Erik Lambourne. It was rare for him to come out in the daylight and it made Gabriele nervous when he did. It usually meant he had something unpleasant planned.

'And?' Erik asked, the white of his mask glimmering.

'He still tells us there is nothing there,'

Erik pursed his lips together and shook his head. 'And we are sure that he had these _winnings?' _

'Positive,' Gabriele said, feeling at least a little bit confident. A rarity in Erik's company.

He nodded and climbed out of the carriage.

By the time Gabriele had managed to scramble back out and up the path, Louis was leaving the house, closing the door behind him. Erik had gone in alone and Gabriele's stomach turned. For the first time he felt sympathy for the man in the house, not because he did not want to see him hurt, this did not bother men like Gabriele, but because he had seen what Erik was capable of.

When they had first entered into their agreement one of Gabriele's employees had stolen from Erik.

Erik broke his neck.

Just like _that_.

In front of everyone and with very little effort and absolutely no remorse, he simply snapped the man's neck with his bare hands. He shuddered at the thought as he looked back towards the house, wondering what horrors lay inside.

He heard a glass shattering scream pierce the tranquillity of the small village and then there was complete silence. Moments later Erik Lambourne walked out of the front door, hat pulled low, holding a bag full of coins.

'I have the money,' he said simply, walking past Louis and Gabriele, who had not said two words to each other while they waited.

Gabriele nodded at Erik.

Erik climbed into the carriage. 'Clean him up,'

Louis looked quizzically at Gabriele, who shrugged his shoulders in response. How on earth was he supposed to know what Erik had done to the man, or what mess they had to deal with now?

Louis took the lead and Gabriele simply followed, looking down at his stylish shoes and tailored trousers. Blood did not suit the new look, he thought, as he stepped back through into the kitchen.

It was when he heard the quiet whimper from the pantry that his head shot up and he looked at Louis in surprise. Louis frowned back and threw the door to the pantry open.

They were confronted by the subject who was in exactly the same position and state as he was when they had left him.

'Has... has...'

Gabriele stared at him. 'Speak man,' he demanded.

'The monster...' he swallowed. 'Has he gone..?'

Gabriele could not stop it.

The laugh that erupted was deep and hearty, he felt it vibrate through his soul. Erik Lambourne had many weapon's in his arsenal, and, apparently, his face was one of them too.


	15. Medicine Man

**Chapter 14- Medicine Man**

Christine self consciously adjusted her hair as she looked into the mirror on her dressing table. She smoothed her dress down, knocking imaginary pieces of fluff off the material. Glancing into the mirror she inspected her own features, hoping that Angel would notice how she looked, that she was pretty. She was not really sure why she did it, what her attraction was to him. Surely you could not develop feelings for someone you had never met?

But his voice_... that voice._

She wondered if he was married but thought that he probably wasn't, not if he was spending so much time at the Opera Populair. How could any woman resist the texture of his voice? When he spoke to her she waited, hung on every single word but when he sang it was as if she was flying. She felt weightless and powerless, wanting to go anywhere, feeling that she could do anything.

Christine knew that this man was no angel but it was a nice dream, it kept her happy. She even liked to think that her father had sent her the angel of music, or at least something close. For so many months since her father's death she had mourned him inwardly but tried not to think about him too much. It had been the angel's presence in her life that had brought him to mind more and more often.

Even as cynical about the whole thing as she was, part of her wanted to believe that this man had been sent to protect her, as Madame Giry had. Perhaps her father had known this man before his death, had told him to come back for her, to teach her and look after her. Shaking the thoughts from her mind she released a sigh.

As much as she tried to imagine it she could not imagine how her father would know the man or, indeed, why he would chose to send him to her.

'Christine,'

Her heart fluttered and she swallowed her nerves. He was there.

'Good evening, Angel,' she said softly.

'How are you feeling?' he asked.

'I'm fine,' she answered, confused.

'How is your ankle?'

She felt a blush. 'It is not too bad today,' she answered, thinking about the embarrassing fall she had had on stage the night before. 'You watched the performance?'

'Of course,' he said simply and she was disappointed when he did not elaborate,

'Would you like me to sing the aria we rehearsed the night before last?' she asked.

There was silence and the longer in continued the more Christine worried that she had some how let him down or angered him. She felt her heart grow heavy in her chest as she waited for him to respond.

'No,' he finally said and Christine blinked back tears. She had angered him.

'I'm sorry,' she said quietly, she had not cried in years and would not cry now.

'What for?' he asked but she could not place the tone of his voice.

'For angering you...' she said, feeling the words stick in her throat. Pull it together, Christine, she thought, you will only make matters worse.

'I'm not angry,' he said simply.

'Then why do you not want me to sing?'

He laughed. 'I think you deserve a rest tonight, it will do your voice no harm to have a break,'

She stared around her, never knowing where exactly to look when he spoke to her. It would help if she could pinpoint where he was speaking to her from but it was as if he was everywhere, in every wall, in the ceiling... his voice surrounded her.

'What will I do instead?' she asked.

'Whatever it is that woman do,' he said. Such a simple answer.

'Can we just talk?' she asked.

There was a moments silence. 'Talk about what?'

'I don't know,' she said. 'But it seems a little unfair that you know a lot about me and I know nothing about you...'

Not even your real name she thought.

'There's nothing you need to know about me,'

'Perhaps not,' she said reasonably. 'But there are things I want to know,'

'Why?' he asked.

'Because that's what friends do,' she said. 'They tell each other things,'

'Is that we are?' he asked.

'What?'

'Friends?'

She paused briefly before answering. 'Aren't we?'

A silence fell in the room, she heard no sound, no movement.

'Are we not friends?' she asked again, a little louder in case he had not heard.

'I am your teacher,' he responded.

She felt a tug on her heart. 'Does that mean we can not be friends, as well?'

'Friends...' the voice surrounded her again. 'I don't have friends, not really, friends are an overrated entity,'

She frowned, feeling a dull beat in her heart. 'I have good friends...'

'The only friends I have ever had have betrayed me in some way,' he snapped. She swallowed back but took solace in that he had shared at least one piece of information about himself. He had no, or few, friends. They had betrayed him.

'I won't betray you,' she said softly.

'We'll see,' he said. 'This is probably enough talking for one day,'

She nodded.

'Enjoy the day,' he said. 'I hear the weather is glorious,'

* * *

The sun was beaming down, in streaks of spectacular gold, over the hills in the distance. Warmth was what the summer had so far brought, not hot, stickiness, but a beautiful warmth. Scott enjoyed the view from his parlour window very much, he enjoyed the peace and tranquillity it allowed him, his view of the countryside that back onto the busy streets of Paris. He had planned to spend the entire day doing nothing so when there was a knock at the parlour door he was, to say the least, a little surprised. 

'Come in,' he said, turning in his chair to face the opening door. Diane, the maid, smiled as she entered.

'I'm sorry to bother you, Monsieur Giry,' she said, her voice delicate and shy, as always. 'But there is a man in the hallway insisting on seeing you,'

'Is he one of my business associates?' he asked, frowning. He had told people he would be unavailable today.

'Not one that I have seen before, Monsieur,' she said. 'He said that he needed your medical expertise,'

Scott paused, stunned by the request for his medical assistance. He had not practiced medicine for years, instead getting into property and banking.

'Send him through,' Scott said.

He waited in the glow of the sun, standing instead of sitting out of caution. The last time he was in a medical situation there had been scandal. Some had blamed him but in the end the real culprit had been sent to prison. He sighed, hoping that this was not some family member out for misguided vengeance. He had allowed the man in because it was unfair to ask his maid to deal with him, particularly if he was here to injure Scott.

It was a few moments before the door creaked cautiously open and a hooded man, hunched over stepped into the room, closing the door with equal care, behind him. Scott stared at him, trying to make out his face, but the man kept his head down low.

'Can I help you, Monsieur?' he finally asked.

_'Scott_...' the man gurgled before he dropped to his knees. Scott ran forward and held the man up, so that he did not fall to the floor. It was only when his hood fell back to his shoulders that Scott realised who it was.

'Good grief,' he said, heaving him to his feet and pulling him to the couch. There was blood everywhere, his lip was split, his eyes black and cut.

'Scott...' he murmured again, clutching his ribs.

'Laurent,' he whispered, cradling the younger man in his arms.

'I'm hurt...' Laurent coughed as Scott stroked dried blood out of his blonde hair. 'I'm _hurt_…'

'I can see that...' Scott said, feeling air catch deep in his throat. It was, to Scott as though the world had stopped. 'What happened?'

'I'm sorry...'

'Shh...' Scott whispered. 'I'll call the maid, we will take you to hospital,'

He began to stand but felt Laurent's grasp on his forearm. 'No,'

'I don't have enough of the things I need to help you,' Scott said, a sense of urgency surrounding him, pulling him in.

'I can't go...' he choked again, a gurgling sound, blood in the corner of his mouth. Scott felt as if his heart as stopped.

'You need...'

Laurent held his hand over his mouth and coughed with a wince. When his hand dropped from his face it was covered in blood. 'No hospital, Scott...'

Scott hooked his arm around Laurent and eased him down so that he was lying on the sofa.

'Diane!' he called. 'Diane!!'

She came darting in, obviously sensing the distress from the room. She took a glance at Laurent and her face paled, she would not recognise him of course, Scott had not seen him in years, but she was not immune to the sight of blood.

'I need you to draw me a bowl of steaming hot water,' he said. 'Get Rachel to get blankets and bandages from the top cupboard,'

She blinked, not moving. 'Anything else,' she said, her eyes fixed on Laurent.

'Hot water, bandages, blankets, salt, whiskey, cotton, needles...' he thought, it had been so long since he had done this. 'And two empty bowls,'

Diane nodded and in seconds he heard her outside calling instructions to the young Rachel. Their footsteps pounding around, running, they too being sucked into the urgency. It felt like a lifetime, as he stroked Laurent's hair, waiting for them to return with the things he had asked for. Only Diane came in, carrying the bowl of hot water and then returning again with the rest of what he had asked for.

'One more thing...' he said, looking up from his kneeling position at his loyal maid. 'A cup of cold water...'

A quick nod and once again she was gone.

Scott looked around him, at the equipment he has asked for. He poured some of the steaming water into one of the empty bowls. Then he added salt to the mix. He grabbed one of the bandages and ripped a small section off it, dipping into the salty water.

'Can you take your shirt off?' Scott asked.

Laurent nodded and, with some difficulty, unbuttoned and removed his blood stained shirt. There were bruises and cuts along his ribs and Scott handed Laurent the whiskey.

'Take a swig on this,' he said as Laurent took it from his hands.

He took the cap off and placed the bottle to his lips, tilting it back he took a sip.

'You'll need more,' Scott said. 'Take a gulp...'

And so Laurent obeyed, trusting Scott with his life. Scott took the bottle from him, putting the top back on and placing it back on the floor.

'Lie back,' Scott said and as Laurent did as he was told Scott wiped the cuts with the bandage covered in salt water. Laurent winced but did not yell out, did not scream. Scott saw his fingertips curl into the cushion, gripping it as his knuckles went white, but Laurent did not say a word.

Diane returned with the water placing it by Scott's side and scurrying quickly away. He could hear her waiting outside the door though, her shoes on the hard floor as she stepped from foot to foot.

He dipped his finger in the cold water and ran it across Laurent's lips. 'We need to keep them moist, they are split enough already,'

Laurent's pale and bloody face nodded back at him.

Scott dried the wounds off but they still bled and so, he began to thread a needle with the thin black cotton Diane had brought him. He handed Laurent the whiskey.

'Big swallow,' he said simply and Laurent did as instructed. 'I'm going to sew your wounds... it will hurt,'

Laurent nodded and closed his eyes. Scott placed the needled over the steam from the bowl for a few seconds and then, with a lump in his throat, pierced Laurent's wounded skin with the tip. Laurent jumped, took another swig of the whiskey that was still in his hand, but stayed silent.

'Can I have the whiskey for a moment?' Scott asked. Laurent handed it to him. Scott dabbed a little on the open wound, allowed Laurent to take another swig and then dabbed some more on.

Sewing carefully he would not dare look at Laurent's face, could not bear to see the pain plastered all over it. A wave of nausea filled him but he fought it away and continued to sew. When the two worst cuts were closed he soaked another small section of bandage in salt water and cleaned it again.

No bleeding.

'Are you alright?' he asked, finally finding the courage to look up.

Laurent forced a smile. 'I think so,'

'You're very ill,' Scott said simply. 'You have internal bleeding and I have no way to stop it, the whiskey won't have helped that but I had little choice... either you sit there in agony or nullify it slightly with alcohol,'

Laurent nodded. _He understood. _

'I'm going to clean your face not, sew the wound on your head and then get you into bed,' he said. 'The only thing I can suggest is plenty of rest, no more alcohol once this is over, plenty of tonic and fruit juice... you must keep your vitamin levels high...'

Laurent was staring at him, soft blue eyes awash with pain and suffering.

'What happened to you? Scott asked, as he cleaned the wounds on Laurent's face with the salt water.

Laurent remained silent.

'Laurent,' Scott demanded. 'Tell me what happened, who did this?'

'I can not,' he said. 'The same reason I can not go to hospital... this is my own fault,'

'Yet I sit here trying to save you,' Scott said. 'Still you won't tell me what has happened?'

Laurent's eyes grew sorrowful but he shook his head, defiant.

Scott cleaned the gash on the side of Laurent's head, dabbed it with alcohol and sewed it up.

'Diane,' he said finally, feeling the sweat drip from his brow.

She entered silently and stood near the door her eyes drifting around at the blood stained bandages on the floor and the bloody bowl of water.

'In my locked cabinet,' he said, holding out the key for her. 'There is a brown bottle containing morphine, please bring it to me,'

Taking the key, she nodded, and disappeared quickly. While she was gone he wrapped a length of bandage around Laurent's waist.

'Please Laurent...' Scott said, letting his eyes drift up again. 'Who did this... tell me _who_, let me help you...'

'You've already helped me, Scott,'

Scott nodded. 'I will get you a bed ready,'

'I can't stay,'

'You must,'

'How can I?' Laurent asked, tears showing in his soft eyes.

'She will understand,' Scott said.

'She will never understand,'

Scott sighed. Laurent was probably right but Scott could not let the younger man leave and keep his good conscience in tact.

'At least let me speak to her while you rest,' Scott said. 'If there is no way through you can leave tomorrow,'

Laurent looked away, out of the window.

'I need you to stay so that I can monitor you,' Scott said. 'If you don't rest you will die...'

Laurent nodded. 'Fine,' he said. 'Where is my room?'


	16. Tearing and Breaking

**A/N: There are surprises to come... All is not quite as it seems though I will confirm now that Gabriele and Erik have an arrangement but please bare in mind we are still around a year before the events we all know so well. There are many changes to come, particularly in Erik. **

Remember the motto for this story is: 'Things do not just happen,'

And also... this may seem off tangent but it's an important part of the story. As I said, many things in the original will actually remain the same but some of it, particularly the end, will change dramatically because of Erik's associations.

Another thing that some of you have noted is that Erik cannot decide how he wishes to be with Christine. He has feelings- I'm hoping you can see that- but it goes against his belief system now. It is hard and he will battle with himself, eventually, though, as we all know, he gives in... and when? When he feels threatened by another suitor...

**Also, please note the timeline- I've tried to put segments in that shows this is not moving day by day- This may show more in the next few chapters. If I was to move this daily it would take me years to write and you would be incredibly bored, very quickly- and besides, how many of us have life changing moments on a daily basis? **

**RR and, mostly:  
**_  
Thank you._

**Chapter 15- Tearing and Breaking**

Scott waited in the study cradling a glass of cool tonic. He had considered the benefits of brandy over the purity of the tonic but had decided he should face Antoinette entirely sober. He had long since sent the maids to their quarters and had been sitting alone for quite sometime, waiting for the show to finish at the Opera Populair. The time was now approaching half past eleven and he knew that she would be home any minute.

When he did hear the front door clunk shut his first reaction was to leap up and greet her at the door, explain everything while she stood there. He did not do this, however, instead he sat in the silence of the room, only the gentle _tick tock_ of the clock keeping him company.

She would find him eventually.

He heard her footsteps around the house and his heart jumped as he heard her feet ascend the staircase. There she would undoubtedly find Laurent and all would be a blur from that moment. So he sat in the treasured silence before the progress they had made as husband and wife in the last few months crumbled around them.

Ten minutes later the door swung open and she stood, her face hidden by shadow, under the arch. He said nothing, felt his heart rise to his mouth, he simply waited for her to speak.

'What...' she paused, as if trying to calm herself. He saw her place her hand on her chest. 'What is _he_ doing here?'

Scott stared at her, feeling bile rise into his throat. 'He was hurt...'

'I'm not surprised he was hurt!' she said, cutting his explanation short, her voice raised.

'He needed my help,'

'If he was so badly hurt he should have gone to a hospital,'

'But he didn't,' Scott said, more calmly than he felt. 'He came here and needed immediate assistance,'

'Not from you,' she said harshly. 'Not from _us_,'

'Was I supposed to turn him away looking the way he did?' he asked.

'Yes,' she said simply.

'How can you say that, Antoinette?'

She stepped further into the room and closed the door behind her. 'I can say it because he turned his back on what is good and right in this society... in this _family_...'

'He needs help,'

'No,' she snapped. 'Not from us. He chose his path, he walked away... he brought this onto himself,'

'Please understand,' he said as softly as he could. 'He was bleeding, coughing blood...'

'Then hospital is the best place for him,'

'Not if he is not comfortable there,'

'You can't honestly tell me that you did not tell him to go to a hospital,'

Scott sighed. 'I did,' he conceded.

'And his reason for not doing so?'

'He did not tell me,'

She stepped towards the fire and Scott saw the blaze of anger in her eyes. 'Did you ask?'

He nodded.

'And yet he did not tell you?'

'No,'

'And you still helped him?'

'Of course I did,' Scott said, heart pounding. This is not what he wanted, he thought that she would see some reason but it was obvious that her anger at Laurent was still too powerful to overcome.

'He is using you to get what he needs,' she said. 'He will give you nothing in return Scott, absolutely nothing,'

'I asked nothing of him,'

'You asked for answers,' she said quickly. 'You asked him why he could not go to the hospital, surely you asked him who made that mess of his face,'

'I did,'

'Then you asked something of him,' she said, logically. 'And he refused to answer your questions,'

'I will not have his blood on my hands, Antoinette,' he said. 'If I had turned him away to certain death how could I have lived with myself?'

'We would have found a way,' she said. 'He did not care enough for us to see our view when he did what he did. You were nothing but good to him... he _betrayed_ you...'

'I know...' Scott whispered and it was the truth.

His wife spoke nothing but the truth.

'Then why bow to his whims?' she asked, sitting in the chair opposite him, shaking her head.

'He was hurt, I could not turn him away,'

'Do you think that he would do the same thing for you?' she demanded.

'I would hope so,'

She laughed. 'You would _hope_ yet deep down you know he would not,'

Scott said nothing, had no answer. How could he answer her when he did not know Laurent anymore, had not seen him in years?

'You know it and you still help him,'

'I took a vow...'

'Many years ago,' she growled. 'You no longer practice medicine, you are not bound by any previous commitments... can't you see what you have done?'

Scott dropped his head into his hands. His marriage lying before him, open and bare, as they argued in what was once their sanctuary.

'You have brought him into _our_ house, under _our_ roof, he sleeps in one of _our_ beds using _our_ supplies,' she said. 'And you don't see what is wrong with this?'

Scott sighed inwardly, what was he to do now? 'I can only apologise for hurting you,' he said. 'But I cannot apologise for helping a dying man,'

'He is no man,' she said. 'He has no heart to speak of,'

'It was mistake,' Scott said. 'A mistake he made many years ago... he is still young...'

'He will not change, he is not like us,'

'He is human,'

She shook her head violently. 'He is an animal,'

'He was so young, Antoinette,' Scott reasoned. 'He was not in charge of himself,'

'He was sixteen and perfectly in charge of himself,' she said. 'Do not try to convince me he had no guardianship... we gave him all that he needed and he betrayed us,'

'I could not turn him away,'

'Yes you could have but you chose not to,'

'You would not have if you had seen him,'

Antoinette glared at him. 'How do you know?'

'There was so much blood, he could barely stand,' Scott said. 'You are cold Antoinette this much is true, but you are not heartless,'

'I do not want him here,'

'Let him recover,'

'I want him to leave, I want him out of my home,'

'It is our home,' Scott insisted. We are still married, he thought.

'Exactly,' she said. 'It is Meg's too and he is nothing but bad influence,'

'She is old enough now to make her choices,'

'And lets hope she makes better ones than Laurent,'

'You can not make him suffer for eternity,' Scott said. 'He is sorry,'

'Did he say that?' she asked.

'Yes,'

'He said he was sorry for what he did?' she asked.

'Not exactly...' Scott conceded. 'He said he was sorry... it was a general sorry, a sorry for anything...'

'A sorry for bleeding on your carpet, is all,' she said.

'He meant it,'

She laughed again. 'He does not have a conscience so how can he be sorry?'

'He made a mistake,' Scott said. 'We all do,'

'You have made a mistake tonight,' she said as she stood and walked towards the door. 'You have made a mistake bringing that creature back into our home, bringing him here... this is _your_ mistake,'

'I love him...' Scott said.

'How can you say that?'

'He is still part of this family,'

'He is not a part of mine,'

Scott shook his head. 'He does not deserve this...'

'That man deserves everything he gets,'

_'That_ _man_ is your brother, Antoinette,' Scott said. 'How can you turn your back on him?'

'Scott,' she said, her voice now calm as her hand reached for the door handle. Her eyes fixed on him and his nerves tingled. 'When he killed that child and began working for Gabriele Aiton he ceased to be my brother or any part of my life... if he has managed to put himself in danger by being friends with that thug then he deserves everything he gets.'

Silence fell between them, their eyes burning into each other. Their truce was over, their new love affair ended here. By being kind, Scott had ruined his marriage and himself, both now at the point of absolute destruction.

'He is no brother of mine, he is no friend of mine and he is to leave this house,' she said finally, a slight catch in her voice. 'He killed a little girl in his pursuit of evil and I can never forgive him for that... he made his choice and now he must live with it...'

The door slammed shut, blowing out the candles and leaving Scott in a hollow silence.

* * *

Meg had been woken by her parents arguing and had snuck onto the landing to see if she could hear what the commotion was about. The only words she made out properly told her that Laurent was back and he was staying in the guest room.

When the shouting had stopped she had snuck back up to the top step and along the corridor to the room at the end. She pushed it open gingerly and peeked inside. Sure enough Laurent, older and broader, was lying asleep in the spare bed. Deciding not to wake him she began to close the door but the sound of his voice stopped her.

'Meg,' he said, it was a croak of a voice, he did not sound so kind as Laurent, but she turned around and stepped inside.

'Laurent?' she said, questioning, now, whether it was truly him. He sounded so different.

'Hello Meg,' he said, pushing himself, with a groan, to a seated position. 'Come in...'

She walked into the room and closed the door behind her. 'What are you doing here?'

'I was in trouble,' he said honestly. 'Your father helped me,'

'My mother his home,' she said simply. 'She is angry,'

'I thought she would be,' he said.

'What will you do?'

He looked around him. 'If you hand me my clothes I will leave now,' he said as he swung his legs carefully from the bed. It was then that she saw the bandages around his body, highlighted by the moon.

'You can't leave if you are hurt,' she said.

'I must leave before morning,' he said.

'Why?'

He laughed quietly, the laugh of the Laurent she had known as a child. 'She doesn't like me very much,'

'I'm sure if you just talk to her...'

'She will not talk to me, Meggy,' he said gently. 'She doesn't want me here and no woman should have her home invaded this way,'

Meg stepped forward and touched his arm. 'Please don't leave tonight, Uncle Laurent,' she said. 'I'm worried for you,'

He looked at her, let his eyes rest on her.

With a nod he pulled himself back into bed, tugging the covers up over his body. Meg felt a pang of hurt on seeing Laurent wince in pain. As she remembered she had not seen him since she was about eight years old, over eight years ago. Back then, when she was growing up, he was the young and vibrant uncle, playing with her in the gardens. When he was only fourteen both of his parents, Meg's grandparents, had been killed in an accident.

She swallowed hard at the thought of her grandparents falling into the icy river after their horses had been spooked. Her mother had only told her that they were gone, but Laurent had told her everything. Laurent was the only one to understand what it was like to be young because he himself was still young.

He was much, much younger than her mother.

Meg did not know what Laurent had done to upset her mother so much and so very deeply, but she could forgive him anything. He had always had time for her, always loved her and she would repay him the same way.

Her eyes drifted over him.

'What's wrong?' he asked, his voice strained.

She smiled at him in the darkness. 'Nothing,' she said. 'I just hope you feel better soon,'


	17. We Might As Well Be Strangers

**Chapter 16- We Might as Well Be Strangers**

'Stand up straight!'

Christine stopped singing and blinked at the sharpness of Angel's tone. She took a deep breath and looked down at her fingernails, which she had recently taken to biting.

'You need to stand straight,' He repeated, a little softer this time. 'It's one of the most important things you will learn...'

'I'm sorry,' she said quietly. It was not the first time during their lessons that she had been chastised by him. Sometimes he would be a little blunt, making his point known quickly. She hated to admit it, she knew that she should not take it as an insult, but it hurt her feelings when he reacted so negatively.

Still, it was her own fault.

'You need to give your lungs more space to move,' he said, now explaining his point carefully, as he always did. He was a harsh critique but at least he had a constructive approach. 'That way your voice will reach the bigger notes and you will not sound so strangled,'

'Yes,' she said. 'Yes, of course, I'm sorry,'

'Don't apologise, Christine,' he said simply. The anger had gone from his tone but his authority remained. 'Just listen to me...'

Christine nodded, fighting away the feeling of dejection. 'I will listen... I do listen...'

'Then keep your body straight when you sing,' he said. 'Again,'

Christine took a breath into her body and let it out with song, the flow of her voice, even from her perspective, was much improved. When she sang, she concentrated, closed her eyes and letting the sound out.

'Stop,' he said.

She blinked.

'Do you know what you're doing wrong?' he asked. The silence that followed only highlighted Christine's embarrassment. No, she did not know what she had done wrong. She waited for him to continue to speak, to at least tell her what she was missing, what it was that she was doing wrong. There was only silence though.

'I thought...' she said, feeling a strain in her tone. Could she say this? 'I think it was... I didn't think I was doing anything wrong,'

The statement was met with the same deafening silence as before she had spoken.

'Are you there?' she said, when the stillness in the room finally became to much for her.

'I'm here,' he said.

'Did you hear what I said?' she asked gingerly.

'I heard you,' he said.

She nodded. 'Then what am I doing wrong?'

'Concentrating too hard,' he said simply.

She sighed. 'If I do not concentrate I make silly mistakes,'

'And if you do you sound like a wooden doll,' he responded.

The statement stung her. 'I...' 

'I mean no offence,' he said quickly. For the first time in the months she had now known him, he sounded as though he did not want to hurt her feelings. Though this did not take the harshness out of what he had said she found some solace in the thought that he was now beginning to seem human.

For a while, she had begun to wonder.

'How do I find the balance?' she asked.

'I don't suppose you can find it, as such,' he said, this time his tone was soft, careful. 'I'm not entirely sure that it is something I can teach you...'

'Then how do I overcome it?' she asked.

'I fear that you either will or you will not,' he said. 'Either the emotion is there or it is not...'

Christine's heart began to sink again. The plunging feeling she had had so many times since her lessons began.

'If I were a gambling man,' he continued, causing Christine to look up again. 'I would bet that you have got it in you,'

_A lift._

'But when you concentrate so hard you become very emotionless,' he said. 'It is hard to listen to because of your beauty and grace... that lack of emotion just seems so out of keeping,'

_Beauty and grace..._

'You understand what I am saying?' he asked.

'Yes,' she managed to say.

'Then maybe that is our lesson over for today,' he said. 'I will tell you what I will do for you,'

'For me?' she asked.

'Yes,' he said and she wondered if he was nodding, wherever he was. 'I will get you tickets to another opera out of the city and arrange for a chaperone,'

'I...'

'Wait, listen,' he chastised. She fell silent. 'Let yourself get swept away, enjoy it and when you return... perhaps it will have helped your own emotion,'

She nodded. 'That sounds wonderful but...'

'But?'

'Well,' she said, heart thumping. 'Can't you take me to the opera yourself?'

'I'm afraid I can't,'

'Why?' she asked softly.

'I don't go out much,'

She stared around her. 'Are you ill?'

'Not exactly,'

'I wish you would take me,'

'Christine...' his voice sounded pulled, strained almost tormented when he spoke her name. The sound of it like this made her heart ache.

'Please...'

'I can't,' he said.. 'Just be careful what you wish for, Christine, someday you might actually get it...'

'Why is that so bad?'

He laughed. 'Trust me,'

'I do,' she said, nodding earnestly

'I will arrange for a chaperone,'

'Do you ever go out?' she asked.

There was silence in reply to her question. Feeling a familiar ache in her chest she sat back on the bed, closed her eyes and rested her head against the cold wall.

'Sometimes,' he said and Christine opened her eyes, surprised he was still there, even more surprised that he had chosen to answer her question. 

'Where do you go?' she asked. Perhaps she was pushing her luck a little, she knew he hated to talk about himself, but she had a hunger for information, a hunger to know him.

'Just out,' came his response.

'Do you walk?'

'Yes,'

'In the park?' she asked.

'Not really,'

'Will you tell me anything about you?' she asked, frustration grabbing hold of her.

'I don't deal well with other people's demands,' he snapped. 'You may ask your questions and I will choose whether or not to answer them. If I decide that I don't want to, then I will not,'

Christine swallowed.

'Lets get our relationship set out quite squarely here, Christine, so that there is no confusion,' he said. 'I am the teacher, you are my pupil,'

She nodded.

'You don't order me, demand of me or instruct me,'

Again, she nodded.

'You pay attention to me, rehearse and work hard,' he said.

'Yes,' she murmured.

'In return you will have anything you desire in this Opera house,'

'I'm sorry I offended you,' she said softly.

He was quiet for a moment. 'I'm not offended,' he said.

'I was only trying to understand more about you,' she said gently.

'I've told you before,' he said. 'It takes time to trust... I have been betrayed before and am unwilling to let it happen again,'

'I won't betray you,' she said, she had told him this before, time and time again, and every time it had come back to this.

'Only time will tell me that,'

'Who...' she stopped herself, heart in her mouth. She knew this was something she should not ask, knew that it was something he probably would not answer, but the words were on her tongue anyway. 'Who has betrayed you?'

The room felt suddenly empty, as it usually did when he left. Somehow, though, she knew that he was still there. She actually got the impression that maybe he was contemplating answering her. Perhaps it was simply wishful thinking, maybe he would never answer her questions, choosing always to keep her in the dark.

'Many people,' he said.

Surprised, she said, 'Perhaps you were too nice to them...'

The statement was greeted with a sharp laugh. 'I think it may have been quite the opposite,' he said.

Though she wanted to tell him otherwise she knew it was probably true. In their lessons he had been sharp and cold, a man not to be taken advantage of, a man to be listened to.

'Do you live alone?' she asked.

'Yes,' he answered. More information, something for her to feast on. _He lived alone._

'No family?'

'No,'

'Do you not keep servants?' she asked and then chastised herself inwardly for the complete stupidity of the question.

'Perhaps I am not rich enough for servants,' he said.

'And maybe you are and choose not to have them,'

He laughed again, this time it was almost a real laugh, an amused laugh devoid of bitterness.

'Do you think a rich man would spend all of his time in an old opera house teaching a young woman to sing for free?'

'If he liked her he might,' she said. 'And if he wanted to protect her he would,'

His laugh was quieter this time, but just as warm. It was a warmth she rarely felt from him, something he did not radiate often and she basked in it for a moment. She let it wash her of her sadness.

'You told me you liked me,' she said simply, when his laugh had disappeared.

'I do like you,' he said, his voice soft like cotton. 'Who wouldn't?'

She fell silent at the compliment, stuck for words.

'You're beautiful,' he said. 'There must be many people who like you, many men in love with you...'

'There are no men in love with me,' she said.

'How do you know?'

'They have not told me,'

'Perhaps they are afraid to tell you?'

'Why would they be afraid to tell me?' she asked, thinking of the rose that he had left and the one he had given her.

She had not received one since.

'Because of your beauty,' he said, the statement so simple it implied a fact beyond anyone's argument.

'I'm not beautiful,' she said simply.

'But you are, Christine,' he corrected. 'So very beautiful, so wonderfully pure,'

She blushed. 'I have never been the pretty one,' she explained. 'I was the ugly one as a child, no one wanted to spend time with me...'

'It is hard not to be one of the chosen few,' he said and for that moment she got the feeling that he knew just how difficult it was. 'But at least you have been given the opportunity to shine now, a little later on,'

'I don't feel beautiful,'

'Well, you should,' he said and she could then hear a smile in his voice. 'Because you are,'

She nodded, felt suddenly hot. 'Thank you,'

'You're most welcome,'

'When will I be going to the opera?' she asked.

'I will get the tickets to you,' he said. 'I need to arrange a chaperone first,'

'How long will that take?'

With a laugh he said, 'I'm sure I will not be short of volunteers to take you out, but I need to send you with someone I trust,'

'I suppose you will let me know?' she asked.

'Yes,' he said. 'Of course,'

'And when will our next lesson be?'

'After you have been to the opera,'

She sighed. 'Will you come to speak to me before then?'

'Of course,' he said. 'I need to tell you where to meet your chaperone,'

She felt let down, as if someone had taken her favourite toy away from her. So she would not speak to him properly until she had been to the opera, but how long would that be? It could be weeks or even, God forbid, months.

'Don't leave it too long...' she managed to say.

There was a pause. 'I won't,' he said and with that he was gone.


	18. Lean On Me

**Chapter 17- Lean On Me**

Laurent winced as he heaved himself out of the soft, warm bed. He limped to the window, felt a crushing pain in his chest, and leaned on the frame. He was not in good shape and he knew it. The day looked as though it would definitely be overcast, probably not good for walking in, certainly not good for hiding in. His footsteps would be tracked too easily if it rained.

Looking back down at the bed, sheets crumpled towards the bottom, he let out a long sigh. He knew that he should have gone in the night, tried to get away then, but he had not counted on Meg's pretty face. His niece had once been his best friend, though she was only a child. When she asked him to stay, he simply stayed.

There was a clap of thunder in the distance but he saw no lightening. Perhaps he was doomed to run into his sister after all.

What was he supposed to do? He had been hurt, badly hurt, needed some help. The only person he knew that he could rely on was Scott Giry, his sister's husband and a doctor. If he had gone to the hospital then that would have been in for him.

Scott was a good man, he had always been so kind to Laurent, and though he appreciated this, he had known that he needed to have his own life. After his parents were killed Antoinette had taken him in, Scott had no objections. They clothed him, fed him, schooled him and cared for him but it all felt so suffocating. He meant no offence to them, of course, but he no longer wanted to live in the shadow of other people.

Glancing outside again he realised that the day he met Gabriele Aiton was very similar to what he had woken up to this morning. He remembered waking up that day, not in this room but one further down the hall, and looking outside.

It had been cloudy then.

When he went downstairs Antoinette chastised him for coming in so late and waking Meg. Instead of simply apologise, as he knew that he should, he bit back and a massive argument ensued. Scott, being the man that he was, tried desperately to calm the situation, but it was no use. Antoinette's anger and Laurent's frustration were emotions too powerful for Scott to have any control over.

Eventually, Laurent had turned on his heels and walked out of the house, slamming the door behind him. He was not sure what his sister did after that, whether she was upset, if she cried or if her anger had simmered more.

The rain started only a few minutes after he had left the house that day. It poured like waterfalls, straight rain, right to the ground. He could barely see in front of his face and his clothes were soaked through and were sticking to his skin. He could not go back though, he as still angry, he knew that Antoinette would be.

It was then that a hand reached out of a passing carriage and pulled him in from the rain. Laurent remembered feeling awful at dripping dirty rain water onto the soft velvet of the carriages interior.

The man that took him in from the rain was Gabriele Aiton. That day was one he remembered vividly, the feel of the rain on his skin, the luxury of the carriage, what Gabriele had looked like. So young, so rich.

He envied him immediately, looking at how handsome he was and how wealthy he was. A fury burned in him, a sickness that he must always rely on the wealthy for what he wanted. Scott Giry and then the man that had saved him from the rain, Gabriele.

They said nothing to each other for a while, he remembered the thickness of the silence. The carriage had continued to move, clunked along the cobbled road and then onto a dirt track, without any instruction. Laurent knew that he should probably question where the man was taking him but he was comfortable and starting to dry that he had been afraid of being thrown out again.

Then he had spoken; 'My name is Gabriele Aiton,'

'I am Laurent,'

'Hello Laurent,' he had said. 'Why were you out in the rain like that?'

'I...' he had begun but stopped. He was going to lie. 'I had an argument with my sister and ran away,'

'Foolish,' Gabriele had said, simply.

'She treats me like a child,' Laurent remembered saying and he cringed at the memory.

'You _are_ a child,' Gabriele had responded.

'I am sixteen,'

The other man then laughed. 'Ah, so a man,'

Laurent had nodded, quite earnestly, believing that he was. How wrong could a boy be?

'So,' Gabriele then continued, eyes fixed on Laurent's wet face. 'You wish to be treated like a man,'

Laurent had simply nodded again.

'Then you can work for me,' he said simply. 'I will pay you well,'

Laurent remembered back to the feeling excitement. A job, with real money, no longer relying on other people to get his way, to do things. He would be his own man.

'What will I do?'

Gabriele had smiled. 'I operate a loan agency,' he said. 'Among other things,'

Laurent nodded in response, to show that he understood.

'You will go along with Louis to collect repayments on these loans,'

'What will I have to do?'

'Not much,' Gabriele said, 'The money should be ready,'

'Then why do you need the two of us, surely this Louis is enough?'

Gabriele had shrugged. 'Sometimes people can be a little rough with Louis,' he said. 'You are big, you help him if he has problems,'

'I can do that,'

'I have no doubt,' he said. 'Now, where do you want me to drop you off?'

Laurent's body shuddered hard at the memory. It was not long after that, that everything went wrong for him, he just did not realise it at the time.

_And then there was that girl.  
_  
He sat back onto the bed, pain shooting through his abdomen, he tasted blood in his mouth again and lay back down. He knew that Antoinette would want him out of the house, he knew that she did not want him there to begin with, but he was now not so sure he could leave. Not only was he in trouble, he was in pain too.

He turned carefully onto his side, trying to ignore the spirals of pain curling through his veins, and then he closed his eyes. When he did all he could see was the face of the blonde child, her eyes sharp and blue, yet so soft and innocent.

Pleading with him to help her, looking down at him from the window, her painful and slow death now a foregone conclusion. The thing that made his stomach churn most was that it was his fault and under the influence of Gabriele, instead of attempting to save her young life, he simply turned and fled.

Antoinette had never forgiven him.

_And she never would._

* * *

Meg watched as her mother lay the table out before her.

'I have given Diane the day off,' she said, as she pottered around, cleaning things that were spotless, brushes things that weren't there. This is what Laurent's presence had done to her.

'Why?' Meg asked, almost afraid of the answer.

'Because she rarely takes time off,' her mother said as she brushed past her and fetched another pie from the oven.

'So where is cook?' she asked, knowing full well her mother had sent him home too. They only had three members of staff, unusual as her father was such a wealthy man. There was Diane, the head of the house really, then there was cook, and then there was the new maid, Rachel.

'Cook has decided to take the day off too,'

'All by himself?'

Her mother turned and scowled at her. 'No, I allowed it,' she said. 'I really quite felt like cooking today,'

Meg lifted her eyebrows as pans clattered together in the sink.

'Don't look at me that way, Meg,' she said. 'I don't cook much anymore, not since your father hired cook...'

'He hired cook to give your hip some rest,' Meg said.

'Yes, yes,' she said. 'I know but I do miss cooking,'

'Are you alright?' Meg asked.

'Yes,' her mother answered. 'Why wouldn't I be?'

Meg sighed. 'Because of Laurent,'

'Laurent is of no consequence and will be gone before nightfall,' she said simply.

'But mama, he is hurt,'

'Yes, so your father keeps telling me,

Another sigh escaped. 'He is, I saw him,'

Her mother turned around and fixed hard eyes on Meg's face. She did not flinch though she knew her mother was angry.

'When did you see him?'

'In the night,' Meg said. 'I heard you and papa arguing about him and so I went in to see him,'

'Was he awake?'

'No,' she lied. 'But I saw his bandages and his face,'

'Well,' she said. 'If he will go mixing with those people that he works for then he is bound to get hurt sooner or later,'

'He is good inside,' Meg said, knowing that it was true. She knew that Laurent had done wrong but how could such a gentle soul turn into a monster. She would not believe, could not believe, that the Laurent she had known as a child was gone.

Her mother simply shook her head. 'I wish it were true,' she said, and for a moment Meg thought she saw a tear in her eye.

'It is... if you give him a chance,'

'I cannot risk it and I will not have him here,' she said. 'He must go,'

'I know you are upset with him,'

'Upset?' Her mother said. 'Meg, I am furious... I am hurt and betrayed and utterly, _absolutely_ furious,'

Meg said nothing, how could she. Deep down she knew that her mother's reasons were solid, good reasons to cast him out.

'He does not belong here anymore,' she said. 'He had his options, he chose the wrong ones and now he must live with that,'

'Maybe if you talk to him,' Meg pleaded. 'See how truly ill he is,'

'I just don't want him here Meg,'

'He has changed,'

'How would you know?' Antoinette asked. 'If he is so changed why is he here covered in cuts and bruises and bleeding?'

Meg nodded, conceding that. 'But he came here,'

'Yes,' her mother said with a quick nod. 'But only because he would be arrested at the hospital,'

'What are you talking about?'

'I had Diane pick the newspaper up this morning,' she said. 'He killed a man in a brawl,'

'What?'

She nodded. 'Read for yourself,'

Meg lifted the paper from the edge of the table, the front page made grim reading. There had been a street brawl yesterday in which a man was stabbed once, resulting in his death. Several other men were involved, including one, believed to be the murderer, who was seen running from the scene of the crime. The man they believe stabbed the other young man was tall and broad, with blonde hair but looked injured as he fled. Meg sighed as she read that the suspected killer had been bleeding and coughing profusely.

'This is Laurent then?' Meg said, half question, half statement.

'I would say so,' Antoinette said, dishing eggs onto the plate in front of Meg. 'Bit of a strange coincidence otherwise,'

Meg nodded and lost her appetite in the horrible realisation that Laurent may have killed a man. Of course, there was nothing in the report to say that anyone had seen him give the fatal wound but this would not matter. Meg had to believe in him, somehow she had to, because she knew that no one else would.


	19. Better Days

**A/N: Thank you for all the great reviews. Things will seem weird in this for a while but it will start to bind- as I'm hoping it is all starting to now. **

**RR**

**Chapter 18- Better Days**

The room was poorly lit and cold but it had become the company's meeting place. It was on the outskirts of Paris hidden behind one of the many wooded areas and could not been seen from any road.

It always surprised Gabriele that Erik knew of these places, being a man who preferred to stay in doors.

Gabriele sat at one end of the table, the leader as he had always been, but for all intense and purpose he was now Erik's puppet. Erik Lambourne sat at the other end. Between them were now eight men, two seats empty.

One of Laurent, the other of the unfortunate Timothee.

'What happened?' Erik asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between the men. They all looked at each other, no one willing to answer the question, no one willing to put themselves in _that_ situation.

Gabriele had to admit to being part of the self preservation group himself.

'Will no one answer me?' Erik said, looking around him, the occasional flicker of candlelight dancing along the white of his mask.

Gabriele coughed loudly and looked at Patrik, Erik's gaze followed.

'Well?' Erik demanded, his voice low but not loud, his frighteningly blue eyes fixed on Patrik's face.

'We had to deal with a problem,'

Erik sighed and leaned back in his seat. 'What problem?'

'Dissent,'

Erik let out a chilling laugh, one that caught Gabriele's spine and made it shiver with fear. He knew that by turning Erik's attention of Patrik he had left the man in an almost impossible situation.

'Dissent?' Erik said.

'Yes,'

'Dissent of whom, what?'

'Us, the group,'

Erik nodded. 'Obviously a missing member and a death was not what you planned,'

'No,' Patrik conceded, his face flushed dark red in the dim light of the room.

'Then which of the two men was your intended target...' he asked, gold flickering in his eyes.

'Laurent,'

'Indeed,' Erik looked down at the table. 'Then, it would beg the question... why is Timothee dead?'

'It was a...'

_'Mistake_?' Erik interrupted, once again his gaze fixed on Patrik's face.

Patrik simply nodded the answer to Erik's question.

'We can't afford mistakes,' he said. 'Did Laurent kill him?'

Patrik nodded again.

'How could you allow that to happen?' Erik asked, a growl in his tone.

'We did not expect him to armed,' Patrik said reasonably but Erik was quite obviously beyond seeing reason.

'If I could...' Gabriele began, in attempt to save Patrik.

'You can't,' Erik snapped. 'Who came up with the idea of beating Laurent to with in an inch of his life...'

'I...'

'In front of half a dozen witnesses!' Erik stood, slamming his hands down onto the table. The noise echoed around them.

Gabriele grimaced. 'It was an... _impulse_...' he said finally. The other men looked his way, knowing he may have just taken his life into his own hands.

'An impulse?' Erik said.

Gabriele nodded. 'We saw the opportunity to deal with our problem and we took it,'

These encounters with Erik were few and far between. Usually, it was only Gabriele and Louis that had any contact with him. On the odd occasion Erik chose to join one of these meetings, he tended to be quiet.

Erik glared at him. 'Obviously,' he said, his voice a level and controlled sound. 'You didn't take it,'

Gabriele felt a sigh build in him but somehow managed to keep it in. 'No, we didn't,'

'So what dissent is it that we speak of here?' Erik asked, looking from man to man, around the table.

'He was going to hand us over to the police,' Gabriele said simply.

'How do you know?'

'Patrik overheard a conversation he had with a man in an alley a few days ago,'

'Is there a reason you didn't tell me about this sooner?'

Gabriele nodded. 'Yes,' he said. 'We didn't want you to feel as though we were turning against you. We wanted to deal with it and show you that we are capable of loyalty,'

'You failed to deal with it,'

'We will still get rid of him,' Gabriele said, confidently. 'We just need to find him,'

'Don't bother,' Erik said.

'What?'

'I said,' Erik repeating, patronising. 'Don't bother finding him,'

Gabriele was confused. He thought that the first thing on Erik's mind would be getting Laurent out of the picture.

'I don't understand,'

'You wouldn't,'

'You want us ... not to kill him,'

Erik shook his head, orange darting across his mask. 'Don't kill him,'

Gabriele was dismayed at this but took some comfort in the fact that there was a good chance Laurent would die anyway. They had beaten him badly, so badly blood was coming from his mouth. Gabriele had seen the newspaper and he knew that Laurent would not be able to go to hospital and therefore, would probably die a slow and painful death anyway.

Still, it confused him somewhat that Erik wanted the boy left alone.

'Let me just clarify,' Gabriele said, feeling a little nervous but trying not to show it in front of his men. 'You don't want us, in any scope, to go after Laurent and finish the job we started,'

'No, I want you to leave him be,'

'May I ask why?'

Erik smiled. 'Well, there is nothing stopping you from asking, Gabriele,'

'And you won't answer?'

'Catching on,'

The men seated at the table all glanced around at each other, they too displaying confusion on their faces. Erik had calmed somewhat but there was still a sign on anger in his eyes, the darkness that lingered there was obvious for all to see. Not one man on that table would dare to stand up to Erik Lambourne, not even Gabriele.

* * *

'Louis, a word,' Erik said as he hid in the shadows behind the old building. Louis' head shot up and he looked around him. 'I'm over here,'

Louis turned and spotted him, obviously the white of his mask giving away his position. As the other man made his way over, Erik stepped out of the darkness and faced him.

'Yes?' Louis asked and Erik immediately sensed the nervousness in his voice.

'I need you to do me a little favour,' Erik said, turning and walking away.

It took Louis a moment to catch up. He was a complete brute of a man, tall and broad, gnarled hands and dark hair. Slow though, nowhere near as agile or as swift as Erik. He did not make Erik at all nervous, not many things did.

They stopped at the base of the hill. 'I need you to escort someone to the opera for me,'

'Opera?' Louis asked.

Erik nodded. 'Yes,'

'Will you pay me for this?'

He laughed. 'Of course,' he paused. 'I always do... but you will see when you get there than no monetary value could ever be attached to having the pleasure of accompanying this woman for the evening,'

'Why won't you go?'

'Lets not act like idiots here, Louis,' Erik snapped. 'Is it not obvious why I will not go?'

Louis remained, wisely, silent.

'You will collect her from the rear of the Opera Populair in the centre of France,' Erik continued. 'I will pay for the carriage, of course, and the driver will know the location,'

Louis nodded.

'She has the tickets, her name is Christine,' Erik said and then let his eyes fix onto Louis. 'She will be safe with you, understand?'

'Yes,'

'You, yourself, will not lay a single hand on her,' Erik said. 'You will fend off anyone else who might have the audacity to try to,'

'I understand,' Louis said. 'Is she your... lover?'

Erik laughed. 'No,' he said simply. 'She is a friend and I except her to be treated with respect and dignity...'

'Of course,'

'And she will have the time of her life,' Erik said. 'Anything she wants... you will get for her... I will give you enough money and any left over is yours to keep,'

Louis nodded as Erik handed him a piece of paper. 'Here are the details,' Erik said.

Louis read through them quickly and then stuffed the piece of paper into his top pocket.

'Everything clear?' Erik asked, as rain started to pour from the dark sky.

'Crystal,' Louis answered.

'Good,' Erik said as he turned and walked away. 'I will expect a most positive report from my friend when you return,'

Louis nodded and Erik made his way into the darkness.

* * *

Laurent rubbed his eyes and then opened them, a feeling of sleepiness still washing over him. The only person he had seen in the last two days was Scott, who checked and cleaned his wounds, and brought him food. So far Antoinette had not kicked him out of the house but even Meg had not been back to visit with him. Scott had been kind enough to bring him a puzzle but otherwise, he had had very little to do.

He found that sleep had become a little easier last night, though he put that down to sheer exhaustion. Scott had been acting strangely around him for the two days he had been there as well. Still, Laurent expected that news had travelled fast about the stabbing. He had not meant to kill Timothee but what choice had he had? He was being punched and kicked from every angle, when Timothee raised his hand to punch him in the head he grabbed his knife and pushed it into his exposed stomach.

Laurent's stomach turned.

There was no doubt in his mind that he had killed Timothee but he hadn't meant to, he was only defending himself. They were trying to kill him, had turned on him like a pack of rabid wolves. Timothee wasn't even the worst, wasn't close to being the worst. In fact, he just didn't seem to belong in the company at all.

He was sad that Timothee was probably now dead, and at his hands, but it was a decision he had had to make.

It was either his life or Timothee's.

Feeling tired again he rested his head back down on the bed, feeling the pain course through his body again and again, in waves. Scott was careful how much morphine he allowed Laurent to take so all that the drug did was take the edge of the pain, instead of taking the pain away completely.

Looking up at the ceiling he contemplated life alone, with no help and no crowd around him. He sighed and closed his eyes, squeezing them shut against the pain. It shot up his sides and through his middle and he clutched at his stomach wishing he was somewhere else, wishing so much that he could change the past.

He thought that it must be hard now for people to have a real and true belief in anything, there was too much bad, too much wrong in the world. It made Laurent's heart ache to think of all the suffering he had made, the destruction he had caused. He had made all of the wrong decisions, those decisions that could make or break a person.

Laurent had always managed, somehow, to take the wrong path.

These decisions had hurt other people, family, friends and all of those who had, had the patience to care for him. He though of his father and how disappointed he would be with his youngest child. Antoinette had done so well, had worked, married a good man, had a beautiful daughter, she took her brother in when he needed guidance.

And his son?

Well, Laurent had turned his back on it all for a little respect. Respect he thought that he did not get from his family, a respect he thought that only working could get. He had been so wrong, very wrong and he knew this now.

He turned his head on the pillow and glanced longingly from the window. Last night he had tried to dress and climb out but it was no use, he was far too ill. He was surprised that his older sister had not thrown him out yet, but he supposed that that would require talking to him. Perhaps she was even contemplating handing him over to the police, he would not blame her.

Laurent had no one left to turn to and everyday he stayed in his sisters house he recovered a little more but at the same time ran the risk of being found.

Either by the police or by the company.


	20. Affirmation

**A/N: I know in the story Carlotta has been with opera for a while… humour me.**

**Chapter 19- Affirmation**

It was just sitting there.

Christine's eyes fixed on the new rose on her pillow, clothed with a black ribbon sitting on top of two tickets to the Opera. She had been to the kitchen for some food and had only been gone for around thirty minutes, but sure as the sun would rise in the morning, there was a rose resting on her bed.

She had definitely locked the door when she left, she always did, it was something that she had never forgotten to do, ever. It was locked when she got back, she remembered using her key to get in. In stunned silence she waked to her bed and lifted the rose from the pillow, along with the two tickets.

She was going to the opera with someone she did not know. Angel had not spoken to her for nearly a week, and it certainly felt like a long week. So far they had been doing her lessons for very nearly six months, in that time she thought that she would know him better, but instead she was more confused than ever. Now she had not had a lesson for over a week, she was feeling the strain of the pressure she felt under from him, to be better.

_To better herself._

It was hard, she was struggling and inside part of her thought that maybe his faith in her vocal talent was a little misguided. She sighed and placed the rose and tickets on the dressing table.

She knew that it should worry her more that he had managed to get into her room and place the rose and tickets on her bed, but somehow it comforted her that he had access to her whenever he needed it. Why she felt that he could protect her, why she felt so safe when he spoke, she had no idea. All she did know was that when she heard him, somehow, things just seemed a little better and she felt that little bit stronger.

She heard a familiar noise and she looked around her; 'Angel?' she said, sitting herself on the stool by the dressing table so that she was facing the centre of the room.

'You go your tickets,' he said simply.

'And my rose,' she said, 'Thank you,'

'You're very welcome,'

'It seems like such a long time since I had a lesson,'

'Don't worry,' he said. 'Tomorrow evening after your final performance in the show I will come by late, I will give you a lesson then,'

'I'm surprised you got tickets for tonight's show,' she said, thinking of the short notice. Not that she minded, it just seemed odd to her.

'Well,' he said. 'You aren't working tonight and this happens to be the only night that your chaperone is free,'

She took in his words and thought for a moment, 'Who is my chaperone?' she asked.

'A man named Louis, normally I would send you with a woman but… well, he will take care of you,' he said. 'He will meet you at the back door of the Opera House and escort you to the opera,'

She nodded and that chastised herself inwardly. What was she nodding at, exactly? She was agreeing but she could not see him, only hear him... she could only ever hear him. Though she always felt his presence he still resisted her gentle pushing for him to show himself.

Deep down inside she wondering if Angel was actually Louis, and he was lulling her into this magical surprised. Of course, though she hoped, scepticism stopped her from buying into the prospect quite as much as she could have. She wished he would meet her tonight, wished he was her escort.

'What time?' she finally asked, managing to bring herself around from her day dream.

'He will meet you at seven,' he said and then the room fell silent.

She waited for a moment to hear any movement or sound, wondered if some day she would hear his breathing. There were no sounds now and she knew that he had gone. He often left without saying goodbye to her, though he usually had a parting piece of advice.

She stood from her seat and walked to the corner of the room where her wardrobe was situated. Opening it she peered inside at the few items of clothing she had been given from Meg. She had only one dress which would pass for an evening gown, good enough for the opera, so he fetched it out and lay it gently on the bed. It was a pretty dress and Meg told her she had never worn it herself.

Though her wish was that her teacher would be the one to take her to the opera, realistically, she knew this was not going to happen. She resigned herself to the, almost as pleasant, thought that maybe she would cast her eyes upon him whilst she was there. That thought would have to be enough.

* * *

The meeting of all of the cast and staff at the Opera Populair had been called for three in the afternoon by Monsieur Lefevre. They were to meet on the stage and wait for his arrival. Christine did wonder what it was all about, a slight fear that the opera would be closing tugged at her mind. She saw very little of the manager of the opera house and it always worried her when meetings were called. The last meeting to be called by him resulted in the sacking of one of the chorus members... Christine's stomach churned.

She sat in the corner of the stage, somewhat covered by the shadows of the curtains, waiting for Meg to sit down beside her. Her friend waved as she entered the room and Christine returned the gesture, tagging a smile on for good measure.

'Any idea what's happening?' Christine asked as Meg lowered herself into a seated position next to her.

She shook her head. 'No,' she said. 'But I get the feeling my mother knows,'

'I hope no one is going to get fired again,' Christine said as she looked around at all of the people wandering aimlessly around the stage.

'I doubt it,' Meg said, reasonably. 'The show run ends tomorrow night...'

She was right, it would be very unusual for them to fire someone on the night before the final show. Which led Christine to think that perhaps this was an announcement regarding the next show. She waited patiently, with crew members and cast, until Lefevre finally appeared at the door to the room. He made no rush on his way down to the stage and when he climbed the steps to stand before them he beamed a grin at them all.

'Good afternoon,' he said, smiling still.

Some people mumbled a quiet reply but mostly people remained silent, waiting to hear what he had to say.

'I have brought you all together for this meeting today to give you some excellent news!' he said, with such excitement that had it not been sickly it could very well have been infectious.

'Well...' he continued when no one responded to his enthusiasm. 'We have attracted two new stars to the Opera Populair who will be performing in our upcoming Opera ...' he let a dramatic pause fall into his words. '...'Hannibal'!'

So Christine was right, this was about their new performance. Mumbling had bubbled around the room, they all knew that Hannibal was an exciting and demanding show. Now all eyes fixed back onto Monsieur Lefevre, whose grin had almost spread all the way around his face.

'So... to help us with our upcoming task and to bring the Opera Populair back to the limelight of it's yester year...'

Meg rolled her eyes and Christine giggled.

'The suspense is almost unbearable,' she whispered through gritted teeth and Christine was forced to choke back a laugh.

Lefevre looked around and scowled at her, she tried to straighten her face.

'We have two new stars,' he continued, dragging his eyes from Christine. 'Very famous, incredibly talented... Carlotta and Ubaldo Piangi!'

The two of them '_swanned'_ onto the stage from where they had been hiding behind the curtains, they cut through the crowd and carlotta twirled for the crowd. She flashed a smile at Lefevre and bowed. Christine looked sideways at Meg who was wide eyed in disbelief. Everyone had heard of La Carlotta, and most had heard of Ubaldo Piangi but no one had expected to see them here.

Christine's eyes looked Carlotta up and down, and then Piangi... before she had chance to say anything Meg tugged at her arm and whispered:

'Looks like they eat well...'

Christine giggled quietly and stared at Piangi's robust figure casting a shadow out onto the stage.

'Feel sorry for our costume designers,' Christine whispered back, and Meg grinned.

Carlotta twirled again and stood by Monsieur Lefevre. 'I Thank you...' she said, French words heavily accented with Italian. 'We thank you all...'

'No,' Monsieur Lefevre said, taking her hand in his and kissing it with a bow. 'We... thank... you...'

_Oh dear... _

'Ahh, yes,' she said... _so modest..._ 'We are here to help you how you say... fix this opera house and make it brilliant...'

With those parting words she jutted her chin up and, with Ubaldo Pinago in close pursuit, strutted from the stage and with the click of the rear door, out of sight. There was a collective sigh around the room as everyone looked at each other, a little bemused by what had just happened. Lefevre still stood in front of them, trying to regain some order, but it was gone. People began to chat more loudly and eventually all sense of control dissipated from the room.

Christine saw Monsieur Lefevre give a helpless glance towards Madame Giry, lifting his hands in a sign of surrender. Madame Giry stepped forward and banged her cane twice, hard, on the boards of the stage. The sound quieted everyone and echoed to the back of the room.

She stepped back into the shadows, as if she had not done anything.

'Thank you,' Monsieur Lefevre said, with a nod, and it was quite obvious that he meant it. 'Now, the production will open in two months we will start rehearsals for the new production in under two weeks,'

Christine frowned and glanced at Meg who mouthed, _'Two weeks'_. Christine mouthed back _'Two months??'_

As if reading their minds, Lefevre continued, 'I realise that this is short notice but it is of the utmost importance to bring this theatre back to it's former glory...'

There were a few nods around the room but most people remained dumbstruck, staring at the manager as if he had lost his marbles.

'We can not tempt brilliance here,' he said, obviously referring to La Carlotta. 'And expect them to wait around for us to get our acts together... the show starts in two months, you will all be ready...'

There were mumbles but Christine noted that Madame Giry did not even look in the least surprised. So, she knew about this.

'You can all leave,' he said finally, after some of the mumbling had once again died down. 'Madame Giry and I will let you all know of your duties after tomorrow nights finale,'

He turned, descended the steps to the stage and in seconds he disappeared into darkness. Christine turned to look at Meg who was shaking her head slowly from side to side.

'Can we do it?' Christine asked her.

'What? Get a cast, set and costumes together in two months?' she said, with a sigh. 'Get a performance, learn the words, steps and music before then?'

Christine nodded, knowing the answer, seeing it written all over Meg's worried face.

'No,' she finally said, as simply as that. She did not embellish further, there was not point. She was only confirming what Christine already knew.

* * *

Louis waited nervously outside the back entrance to the Opera Populair. The night was cool but clear, stars twinkled in the sky plastering it with patterns and puzzles. Sometimes he liked to think of himself as one of the stars; free and bright. A swirl of breeze wrapped itself around his legs and he pulled his dinner jacket tighter around his body.

He didn't really want to be here, waiting outside this opera house to take some woman he didn't know to another Opera house to watch a show he didn't care much for. He rubbed his hands together, he was surprised at how chilly summer nights could be sometimes. He checked his pocket watched a sighed, maybe he would just go and forget about this whole charade. He certainly felt like just leaving.

He wouldn't though, who would? It would be foolish to deny Erik Lambourne this simple request.

He leaned against the wall but as he did there was a click and the door swung open next to him. At once he was back, standing straight. He really had no idea what to expect but he assumed anyone that fraternised with Erik was probably not someone you wanted to spend an evening with.

He stepped around to face this woman, this Christine, and his breath was taken away.

_She was beautiful.  
_  
Louis blinked, swallowed, tried to regain some sense of where he was and what planet he happened to be on. Her dark hair fell in soft curls over slender shoulders, large, chocolate eyes peered up through a loose fringe, full pink lips, soft cheeks...

'Louis?' she asked, a frown on her face.

Even frowning she was pretty.

'Yes,' he said, too quickly, too sharply. 'Sorry, I was in a world of my own,'

She nodded, eyeing him wearily.

I don't blame you, he thought.

'Christine, I assume?' he asked.

Another nod.

'Shall we go?' he asked, heart racing. This was not what he expected, _she_ was not what he expected.

Instead of answering she took the lead, walking to the edge of the path and rounding the corner. He walked faster until he was by her side and then guided her out to the carriage that Erik had sent for them.

Was Erik in love with this beautiful young woman?

Louis opened the door for Christine and then held his arm out to help her into the back. He was staring, he knew he was, but he could not help it. There was something so enchanting about this woman.

In the carriage they barely said two words to each other, there were pleasantries but it was obvious that Erik had not told Christine what to expect either. Louis wondered briefly what she had thought when she had seen him, then he pushed the thought from his mind. He was here to do a job and that was all.

But could he not try to enjoy himself in the process.

The theatre was bustling and busy, people were gathered in crowds as they waited to be called through to their seats. Louis looked around him and noticed that there was a bar to the rear of the room.

'Christine?' he said, pulling her out of what ever trance it was that she had gone into.

'Yes?' she asked softly.

'Would you care for a drink?' he asked, allowing himself to show her one of his rarer moments... a smile on his face.

It seemed to work and immediately she smiled back, 'I would love some tonic or some orange juice,'

He began to walk away from her, towards the bar, but then remembered what Erik had said to him.

'You had better come with me,' he said. 'I was told to make sure that you were never alone and always safe,'

She blinked as if surprised. 'Alright,' she said, as she followed.

Louis considered for a moment having a stiff drink to cool his ever warming nerves. There were tingles all over him, he was on edge.

When he handed Christine her drink she took a small sip and eyed him over the top of the glass. He saw curiosity and questions in her eyes but she allowed the silence to linger between them. There was no attraction there, he thought, a little disappointed, but there was something hiding behind her dark eyes.

'So...' he said, trying to hide the tang of nervousness in his voice. 'Do you like the opera much?'

She stared at him. 'Yes,' she said simply.

Was she going to make conversation hard work all night?

'Do you live at the Opera Populair?' he asked.

'Yes,' she said.

'What do you do there?'

'I'm a dancer?'

He smiled. 'My mother was a dancer,' he said.

'Really?' she said, her eyes brightening a little. 'So was mine but she... she always wanted to be singer,'

'They do seem to get more adoration,' Louis said.

Christine nodded. 'I am learning to sing,' she said. 'That is why I am here tonight,'

'To learn??' he asked, confused.

'My teacher tells me I need to see emotion in action,' she smiled, he thought for the first time.

'Ahh,' he said. 'Well, I suppose that is important,'

'Apparently so,' she said.

'Is that how you know Erik then?' Louis asked.

She frowned at him. 'Erik?' she asked.

'Yes,' he said, wondering why she looked so confused. 'Erik Lambourne, the man who sent me... got you tickets...'

'Oh, sorry,' she said, but the frown remained.

'Are you alright?' he asked as the audience began taking their seats. They followed them and were then led to the front of the room, close to the stage.

'Yes,' she finally answered as the lights dipped.


	21. Every Time

**A/N: I must apologise for this chapter being so short. I was going to put a lot of the next chapter at the end and then I thought, 'this chapter needs to stand alone'**

So, I'm sorry it is short.  
**  
Chapter 20- Every time  
**

Now she understood.

As she tucked the sheets around her body, laying her head on the pillow, she understood what he had been saying to her. The opera had been wonderful, Louis had been pleasant, if a little distracted, and she had thoroughly enjoyed her evening. She was now sure that the only thing that could have made it any better would have been if he had taken her and not Louis.

It was not that Louis was at all poor company or that she hadn't enjoyed being there with him. It was simply that he was not the man she wanted to be there with. Of course, Louis had been kind and sweet but he wasn't her angel.

Her eyes closed and she sighed, what she now understood was the importance of emotion. She did not think it would happen, but it had, she had been swept in completely by the whole performance. Now she knew that she needed to let herself go.

Sleep began to seep into her pores but as it did she heard the sound in the walls and opened her eyes. It was not like before because now when she heard the noise, though her heart still beat rapidly, it was for a different reason.

'Did you enjoy the opera?' he asked, breaking her night time silence. She pushed herself up so that she was sitting on the bed.

'Yes, thank you,'

'Did Louis behave himself?' he asked.

She smiled in the darkness. 'He was the perfect gentleman,'

'There's a first time for everything,' he said but there was humour in his deep voice.

When the silence dropped in the room again she was the first to break it; 'Erik?' she said, his name stuck in her throat for a moment.

Then he laughed.

'So that is your name then?' she said playfully. 'You do have one,'

'Yes, my name is Erik,'

'Lambourne,' she said. 'Your name is Erik Lambourne...'

'It's alright,' he said. 'I didn't tell Louis not to tell you,'

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'I didn't know if I could trust you,' he said simply.

'And do you know now?' she asked, expectantly.

'No,'

'I have never given you any reason not to trust me, have I?'

'Nor have you given me any reason to trust you,'

'I do as you ask don't I?' she said, listening, trying to hear his breathing. 'I practise, I am ready for my lessons when you say, I do not stay out late,'

'This is all true, Christine,' he said softly. 'But trust is about more than that, it isn't about obedience,'

'Then what do you want from me?' she said, equally as softly, feeling a tug in her chest. 'How do I make you trust me?'

'You can't make me trust you,' his voice was gentle, so gentle she barely heard him. 'Trust is earned, it takes time... it isn't you doing what I say, it is you doing what you think is right by me...'

There was a pause and Christine was afraid he would leave. She was relieved when his voice filled the room again.

'...without being told... and me doing what is right by you,'

She laughed gently. 'I didn't even know your name until tonight,'

'I know,' he said and she thought for a moment that he was going to apologise. 'Not many people know my name,'

'Then maybe you do trust me... a little,'

No answer.

'I did what you asked of me tonight as well,' she said softly. 'Will you do one thing for me?'

'What do you want me to do?'

She laughed. 'You didn't answer my question,'

'I think it only fair that I know what you want me to do before I agree to it,' he said.

She smiled. 'I only want you to tell me something about yourself... anything, just one thing...'

The silence fell again, she was surrounded in the quiet, waiting for him to say something... to say anything.

She was about to give up and go to sleep when his voice softly pushed through the silence; 'I get lonely sometimes,'

Not a fact about who he was or where he was from but if anything Christine thought that this was even better. An emotion, real and true, and he had told her about it. She sat still for a moment, unsure how to respond. She had asked the question and he had answered her, giving her the information she wanted but at the same time never expected.

'Do you...' she stopped herself, cleared her throat. 'What about your friends?'

'I have one friend only,' he said. 'Only one that I trust,'

'Who is that?' Maybe she was pushing her luck but...

'His name is Nadir,'

'That's an unusual name,'

Erik laughed. 'In France, perhaps, but he is Persian,'

She felt herself smile, wondered if he could see her eyes sparkle in the dark room. 'You have an exotic friend,'

He laughed again and she felt warm. 'I'd hardly call him exotic,' he said. 'I might call you exotic,'

'You'd be wrong if you did,' this time it was Christine laughing.

'Well, you aren't from France,'

She paused. 'How do you know that?'

'Your accent,'

'I've worked hard on my French accent,'

'Why?' he asked.

'I wanted to fit it,'

'I'm going to guess Swedish,' he said. 'Judging my your accent and your surname. Swedish suits you more,'

She sighed. 'I've struggled to fit in around France,'

'It can be difficult for someone so young to move somewhere so new,' he said and he was right.

'I managed,'

'Yet you still try to fit in,' he said quickly. 'Why would that be so important to you?'

'I...'

'With your beauty you stand our no matter what you do or try,'

She blushed. 'It was harder as a child,'

'To fit in?' he asked.

'To be accepted,' she replied. 'I was not beautiful as a child,'

He said nothing in response and so she continued to talk, something in her needed to tell him this, needed him to understand. She did not want any sympathy from him but she did not want to feel his disappointment either.

'I was ugly,' she said simply. 'I was tall with thin limbs, my ears were too big... my eyes were too dark, my accent was too different... no one liked me...'

'It must have been very difficult for you,' he said softly.

'At the time, yes, it was difficult,' she suddenly felt cold and pulled her blanket up to her chest. 'The other children... they weren't really very nice to me,'

'People can be cruel,'

'My father... he tried to teach me to ignore what the others said but...' she trailed off and then added, painfully; '...it was too hard,'

'So you thought it would be better to change?' he asked.

'I haven't changed,'

'You try to disguise your pretty accent,'

'How can you even hear it?' she asked. 'Most people don't,'

'I have a good ear,' he said. 'I am a musician above all,'

She nodded.

'I didn't want to be picked on anymore,' she said softly, feeling an ache in her chest. 'You get tired of being bullied,'

'I know,' he said softly.

'I only changed my accent,'

'It's alright,' he said. 'I just... I like your accent,'

'I'm glad someone does,'

'I'm sure your father did,' he said. 'One question though, if your father was Swedish how did you end up with such dark hair,'

'My mother,' she said. 'She was from the South of France,'

'And she had dark hair?'

'Yes,' she said with a nod, it had been so long since she had talked about her mother properly. Probably too long, she thought. 'She was beautiful,' she managed to say on a choke.

'I'm sure she was,' he said.

'I miss her,'

'I can see that,'

'My father died too...' she said. 'Not long ago,'

'I'm sorry you have had so much loss in your life,' he said. 'I wish there was something I could do for you,'

'Trust me,' she said

'I...'

'Trust me... ' she said softly. 'That's what you can do for me, you can trust me or at least, you can try,'

'It's not that easy,'

'All you have to do is try,' she said. 'You go for so long with nothing, trusting no one and you will become something you're not,'

There was no response, she felt the ache in her chest again.

'I will try,' he said, finally breaking the silence.

'Try...'

'I will try to trust you,' he said simply.

Christine heard him leave, she felt his presence leave the room. He rarely ever said goodbye to her but she always knew when he had gone. She shuffled herself back down the bed, placed her head down on the pillow, let her thoughts swirl around, thoughts of her father, memories of her mother... Erik... I will try to trust you...

And for the first time in such a long time she allowed herself to cry.


	22. Friends will be Friends

**A/N: Thank you all, for the reviews, the kind words and all the rest!! I will get around to replying to reviews at some stage but I'm so busy right now. **

**These chapters go up unedited as I simply haven't had time and I wanted to get them up this weekend. **

**RR and thank you all, as always**

**Chapter 21- Friends will be friends**

Laurent took the tray of food from Scott's hands and placed it on the bedside table. Scott stood there silently, looking Laurent up and down, and Laurent wondered if he was assessing his wounds. He had lost track of how long he had been here, he spent a lot of time sleeping, and now he was worried.

Scott looked tired, and for the first time ever, Laurent thought that he looked old. He had dark circles framing his once piercing eyes, wrinkles had taken their place on his forehead and his skin seemed whiter than usual, paler.

'Are you feeling alright?' Laurent asked as Scott turned to leave.

Scott chuckled. 'I'm the doctor, remember?'

'I know,' Laurent said, wondering if this was the effect of denying his sister what she wanted. 'But you don't look at all well,'

'I've felt better,' Scott said, honestly. Laurent nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. Scott seemed to think for a moment and then, with a deep sigh, joined him.

'I appreciate all that you have done for me,' Laurent said, as softly as his gruff voice would allow. 'But if it is making you this ill...'

'It isn't your fault,' Scott said quickly.

'Of course it is,' he said. 'How long have I been here?'

'A few weeks,'

He nodded. 'Exactly,' he said. 'And this is not exactly what Antoinette wanted, is it?'

Scott shook his head, let it dip so that he was looking down at his own hands.

'Why has she let me stay here?'

'I asked her too,' Scott said. 'You were... are very ill,'

'It's obvious that you aren't sleeping,' Laurent said.

'Worry,' Scott grunted.

'Worry about what?'

Scott sighed. 'My marriage,'

'Then I will leave...'

'You're not well enough to leave,' Scott said. 'And besides, none of this is really your fault,'

Laurent frowned at him.

'We were... having problems before you came back,' he said. 'We thought that maybe the cracks were healing but... they're not and now, I don't think they ever will,'

'I'm sorry...'

'Be sorry for the things you _have_ done in your life but not this Laurent,' Scott said firmly. 'You have many things to apologise for, too many to count, but this is not one of them,'

Laurent remained silent, biting back the sorry that had made it's way into his mouth.

'I won't tell you that your being here has helped, we both know what it's done,' Scott continued. 'But you can't be blamed for the rift in our marriage, it's not your fault... you have done exactly as we asked,'

Laurent nodded. The only thing they had asked of him was that he remain in this room while Antoinette was home, otherwise he could treat it like home. To be fair to Scott, Laurent had spent much of the time he had been here sleeping.

'Besides this,' Scott said, 'I was not the only one that asked if you could stay,'

Laurent smiled. 'Meg,'

Scott nodded. 'She loves her uncle,' he shrugged.

'I'm glad someone still does,' he said.

'Well,' Scott said. 'You haven't made it easy,'

'I know,' Laurent whispered as Scott slung an arm over his shoulder.

'I've known you since you were a boy,' Scott said, 'Antoinette she loved you so much... that was infectious, you were infectious... I always saw you as my son,'

'And now,'

'I still see you as my son,' he said simply. 'But Antoinette... I think she loves you, Laurent, deep down I think that she does but she... needs time,'

Laurent laughed. 'I don't think time is going to do it, do you?' he said. 'If we are being honest here,'

Scott shrugged his wide shoulders. 'Who knows what goes on inside that woman's head,'

Laurent pulled Scott into a careful hug, 'You can't help it can you?' he said.

Scott patted his back as they released each other. 'What?'

'Loving her,' he said.

Scott shot him a sad smile. 'I'll always love her,'

'So what are you going to do?'

'I don't know,' Scott said, sighing. 'I honestly don't,'

'She loves you...'

Scott shook his head. 'I don't know so much anymore,'

'She does,'

'You haven't seen us in years,'

'But I know,' Laurent said, with a confidence that came from knowing them so many years ago. 'She always loved you, she always will... you and Meg, you're her life... she would never let anything happen to you,'

'Maybe,' Scott said. 'But we're stuck in this... dip...'

'You'll work through it,' Laurent said.

'I want to,' he said. 'But I don't want her to stay out of duty, out of feeling that she has to... I'm not a dictator, she is not my property...'

'She knows that and you know what she's like,' Laurent said. 'If she wanted to go... she would be gone by now,'

Scott nodded. 'You should eat your dinner,'

'I will,' he said. 'After we talk...'

* * *

Meg wiped her brow, let her hair fall down over her eyes as she slipped her ballet shoes from her feet. She threw them under her chair and stretched back, arms in the air, taking a deep breath. It was the only break she was likely to get. That evenings closing of the opera had been brilliant to a near empty theatre, obviously word had not trickled out about La Carlotta yet.

She snapped her fingers and rolled her head around, freeing the muscles in her neck. This was how she ended every night, stretching and making sure her body loosened up. Muscles had a horrible tendency to ache after dancing if she did not do this. Her mother wandered past, her head down looking solemn, as she did a lot of the time lately. Meg began to wonder what had really gone wrong.

If she was pushed to think about it she would know that the problems had all started a long time before Laurent had come back home. She still called it his home, anyway, even if no one else did. It had not escaped her attention that her parents seemed to be arguing more and more, that the time they spent together was either in hostile silence or irritated with each other.

She decided that she needed a friend and so she pushed herself to her feet and took the back door into the corridors. Normally she did not like it down here, it was dark and musty, but since Christine had moved in it hardly seemed as bad. Still, she knew that she must be careful here, she knew that this was the Phantom's domain. It made her wonder why the ghost tolerated Christine's presence here, she was surely an intrusion, but she seemed happy.

As she approached the section with dressing rooms she heard a sound, a light sound, high. When she got closer to Christine's door she could make out singing, beautiful, soft singing. She stood at the door for a moment, frozen to the spot, unsure if she had ever heard anything quite so ... amazing. She closed her eyes and let the sound of her friends voice into her, the sound lifted her, made her heart thump.

Christine could sing.

Christine could sing better than anyone, any man or woman or opera star, that Meg had ever heard before. When the sound died down she heard the creak of Christine's bed and decided to knock at the door. It was a few moments before the door opened and Christine's dark eyes peered out at her through the gap.

'Hello,' she said, without opening the door any wider.

Meg frowned. 'What are you doing?'

'Resting,' Christine said, too quickly.

'I heard you singing,' Meg said, trying to peer around her into the room, Christine responded by edging the door closed a little more.

'I was,'

'You sound lovely,'

'Thank you,' Christine said and Meg saw a blush on her cheeks.

'Is there someone in there with you?' Meg asked, confused.

'No,'

'Then can I come in?'

'It's not a good time,' Christine said, a little sharply.

'Have I offended you?' Meg asked.

'Of course not,'

'Then why won't you let me in and why are you being so...'

'I'm sorry,' Christine said and the apology, to Meg's ears at least, sounded genuine.

'Who is in there, Christine?' Meg asked, again trying to look over her friends shoulder.

'There's no one here,'

Meg's frown deepened. 'Then why, again, can't I come in?'

'I'm tired,'

'You're lying,'

'Meg!' Christine said. 'That isn't at all nice,'

'But it's the truth,' Meg said. 'You were singing a moment ago...'

'Singing helps me to relax,'

Meg stared at her friend.

'Really, Meg,' she said. 'I'm just a little tired after the show,'

'So am I,' Meg nodded. 'But I wanted to visit with you, we haven't spoken properly in so long I was starting to forget what you sounded like,'

'I'm sorry,'

'Christine...' Meg said and paused. '... are you sure there is no one in there with you?'

Christine responded to this was a roll of her eyes and she opened the door wide, showing Meg the whole room. Meg took the opportunity to step inside, leaping past Christine. She giggled.

Christine smiled. 'I told you that I was alone,'

'It would appear that way,' Meg said, lifting her eyebrow at her friend then, quickly dropping to her knees and looking under the bed.

Christine just stood there giggled as Meg made a show of going around the whole room, checking the wardrobes, under sheets, behind things.

'You have escaped me this time,' Meg said, with her fist in the air. 'But I  
will catch you...'

Meg collapsed on Christine's bed in fits of giggles and eventually it rubbed  
on off her friend, who began to laugh too.

'You are so silly,' she said when she caught her breath. Meg smiled.

'Don't understand why you wouldn't let me in,' she said. 'I think you might  
have had a man in here,'

Christine laughed again. 'Don't be so silly,' she scoffed. 'You already  
looked around, how would he get out of here without you seeing?'

'Perhaps he's a very small man...'

Christine burst into laughter and the sound of it comforted Meg.

'So what are you doing here?' Christine asked.

Meg shrugged her shoulders, wondering what she should tell her. Not about  
Laurent, that was certain. 'I just need a break...'

'From what?' Christine asked, sitting on the bed next to Meg.

'From...' She sighed. 'Home,'

'Why?'

'My parents have been fighting a lot recently,' she said, feeling a wave of  
sadness inside her. 'A lot of arguing...'

'I had no idea...'

'I suppose being together for most of the time can take it's toll...'

Christine nodded. 'It looks as though it is taking it's toll on you too,'

'Sometimes it does,' she said. 'Tonight just happens to be one of those  
times,'

Christine nodded and reached out to stroke Meg's back.

'It's just that I saw my mother after the show,' Meg continued, feeling that  
she somehow needed to explain herself. 'She had her head down... she never  
has her head down... she looked so very sad,'

'I noticed that too,' Christine said honestly.

'It hurts me to see her that way,' she said. 'And my father... he spends so  
much time locked in his study alone,'

Christine remained silent, Meg knew that she was just letting her talk,  
letting her get this off her chest. The concern in her friends eyes was  
comforting. She knew that Christine could not do anything about her  
situation but her, just sitting there listening, helped. To know that  
someone was prepared to hear her, to hear what she had to say, to know that  
someone actually care ... that was enough...

'I love them both so much,' Meg said, feeling the prickle of tears in her  
eyes. 'I just... I know they love each other, Christine, I know they do,'

'I'm sure they do...'

'I wish they could work it out,'

'Maybe they're trying,'

Meg thought of Laurent, of the stand she and her father had taken about it.  
Had her father given up trying?

'I suppose,' Meg said. Suddenly, with tears in her eyes, she felt a little  
bit silly for pouring all of this out. She knew that her parents would try  
to work things out, they would try to fight for their marriage...

She stood up. 'I had better get going,'

Christine nodded and she too, stood.

'I don't want them worrying about me, as well,' she said as she opened the  
door and stepped out.

Before she left Christine pulled her into a tight hug and told her that she  
was sure everything would be alright. Meg was not so sure but she had faith  
in both of her parents.

Christine waved and Meg heard the door click shut behind her...

... and the sound of a man's voice coming from Christine's room.


	23. Hopelessly

**Chapter 22- Hopelessly**

Calotta and Piangi had just about taking over the whole building. Christine had not realised quite how bad it would be, them both there, everywhere. If it wasn't the shrill of her voice or the smell of his cologne, it was their private staff. She shook her head and she rubbed the moisture off her body after rehearsals.

'Hannibal' the new production, was coming along quite well, much better than Christine or Meg had anticipated. She had been chosen for the chorus again, along with most of the dancers, this was a big production and needed many members of cast to fill it. The costume designers and makers had used their ingenuity by digging out some old costumes used in an opera a few years before. Fortunately for them the lead male in that had been somewhat robust too.

Piangi stepped past her and looked down at her, along the edge of his nose. She wondered if he ever got bored of living in Carlotta's shadow, of being her little puppy dog. She supposed not, they were well suited for each other.

Christine was not one of those people who simply disliked people because they did not fit in, she had fought against this so hard in her past that the thought of it made her feel sick. There was just something about them, something about their arrogance, something about the way they spoke to people...

'Ubaldo!'

Christine winced at the pitch of Carlotta's voice, and the diva made no attempt to hide her distaste as she walked past. The two of them started to chatter to each other in very fast Italian, Christine could understand some of it but not a lot, it had been a very long time since she had been to Italy.

With only a month to go until opening night Carlotta's face on the posters had made the show a popular one. Tickets for opening night had sold out in less than a day, a record she was sure, tickets for the next two weeks were selling out quickly too. People wanted to see La Carlotta and they wanted to see Ubaldo Piangi. As much as she hated to admit it, perhaps they were a positive addition to the Opera Populair... at least they were selling tickets now.

The world adored her, France adored her, and Christine would just have to get used to that. One person she knew Carlotta was irritating beyond all realms of normality was Erik. He had withheld judgement on her until he had heard her first rehearsal. That night he had come to give Christine a lesson and had spent the first fifteen minutes in a full fronted attack on La Carlotta's abilities.

Christine had gently pointed out that tickets were selling phenomenally well and he had scoffed at this, telling her that he would rather the Opera house closed than destroy his integrity.

She wondered what he meant.

But then her lesson had commenced and until now the conversation had left her mind almost completely.

She thought about her recent lessons, she was getting much better, she had found emotion, it was as if she had found her place. Every night Erik complimented her more and more, giving her gentle guidance but letting her sing freely. They had been rehearsing songs from the upcoming Opera and when she asked him why, he had simply said; _'It never hurts to have an understudy,'  
_  
There was something in his tone when he said that, that made her stomach twist with a sense of foreboding.

Her lessons had started going on later and later into the night, she was spending more time speaking to him, more time getting to know him... or at least she tried to get to know him. There was no denying that he was more open to her but still, he could be hard work sometimes.

She now knew that his father had died when he was very young, a fact that made him sound incredibly sad. Apparently, it seemed he did not like his mother particularly, but he did not go into much detail about this. She didn't really mind though, it was just nice to spend some time with him.

On a lot of evenings he would sing the shows duets with her but when he did she quickly lost concentration. When he asked why, she laughed... who could concentrate on anything when he was singing... he did not chastise her for this, which she was surprised, and pleased, about.

In fact, the last time he had really told her off was when Meg had visited unexpectedly about a month ago. It was not as though Christine had not tried to send her away but Meg could be incredibly stubborn. There lesson had, therefore, been interrupted and Erik had not been pleased to say the least.

Apparently, Erik had a little bit of a temper.

Still, this didn't bother Christine much, though she knew that it probably should. It was as if, when she was with him, when she could hear him, nothing else mattered. He seemed the only person to ever truly understand her. When she spoke of her past, of not fitting in, he just knew what to say. That's why she opened up to him and felt she could tell him virtually anything.

There were a lot of things that she knew should bother her about Erik Lambourne, she could reel off a full list, but they seemed so irrelevant. Next to Meg it was obvious that Erik, though he denied it, was her best friend. He comforted her, he spoke to her, they had conversations that were almost too deep to tread in, yet he seemed so comfortable with them. Well, comfortable until the conversation turned around to him.

She had also discovered just how intelligent he was. He read... a lot. This was one of the main things that she had learnt about him. She liked to read but she tended to opt for fiction, where as Erik read factual books, practical books... of course, he said that he also read fiction, enjoyed some Shakespeare in fact. Shakespeare was a little above Christine's head and she had smiled when he had told her his favourite was Macbeth. Apparently, she wasn't supposed to say that out loud.

So she didn't.

It amazed herself that she was obedient to him, anything he asked she could and would make possible. She questioned things, this was in her nature, but she trusted him. How could she ask him to trust her if she did not give him the same courtesy.

She liked to call it a friendship, wished sometimes, that she could call it more.

* * *

'Erik you are pacing like a caged lion,' Nadir said, looking up from his book. He saw Erik eyes flick in his direction but he said nothing, he simply continued to walk around in circles.

Nadir sighed and lifted the book back up, continuing to read the passage he was on. Before he met Erik he had not been much of a reader, he could read, of course, but he just did not do much of it. However, to know Erik was to know intelligence. In his little home, here, beneath the Opera Populair, there were books of all sizes and descriptions on every surface. Piled high on cabinets, on tables, stacked in bookshelves made by Erik's own hands.

It was no use, he couldn't concentrate. 'Erik,' Nadir said.

He stopped walking and looked over at Nadir. 'What?'

'What on earth is wrong with you today?'

He frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'Well,' Nadir said, pointing at the floor. 'If you don't stop walking around you're going to start wearing a trench into the floor,'

Erik grunted.

'Something on your mind?'

'No,'

Nadir rolled his eyes. 'Such a good liar,'

Erik started to pace around again and Nadir felt a sigh escape, the sigh, in turn, caused Erik's head to snap back around so that he was staring at Nadir.

'You can always leave,' Erik said.

'I don't want to...' Nadir said. 'Lately you've been much better company,'

Erik sighed and slumped into the wooden chair on the far side of the room. Nadir was now stuck for things to say, he had succeeding in getting his friend -a term he used loosely- to sit down, but now what was he to say to him. It was obvious that Erik was not in the most social of moods, this Nadir had witnessed many times before, but there was something else.

'Are you going to tell me?' he finally asked.

'This opera,'

'What about it?'

'Have you heard the rehearsals?'

'Yes,'

'And what do you think?' Erik asked, leaning forward.

'I'm not the musician here,' Nadir smiled. 'I'm not sure that my opinion really matters...'

'Usually I would agree with you...' Erik quipped, 'But people like you will be in the audience... so tell me what you think,'

'Honestly?'

'No, Daroga,' he said. 'I want you to _lie_ to me,'

Nadir took no offence, he was used to Erik's ways. 'I didn't like it very much,'

Erik slammed the palms of his hands down onto the arms of the chair and stood up. His face twisted with anger, his eyes blazed.

'Disaster...' he said, quietly, but his hands shook with rage. Nadir felt his body move back in the chair, edging away from Erik.

'I didn't like La Carlotta...' Nadir said, swallowing hard, trying to explain himself.

Erik simply nodded, eyes still on fire. 'It's a complete disaster,'

'Tickets are selling though, Erik,' Nadir said. 'The show... the stars, they are popular,'

Nadir watched as Erik ran his hands through his hair, holding his head inhis palms, despair on his face.

'That isn't what matters,' he said.

'Why not?' Nadir said. 'I thought better sales was what you wanted,'

'She's useless,'

Nadir forced a smile. 'I noticed,' he said. 'But there must be a reason the audiences flock to see her,'

Erik laughed, 'There must be,' he said. 'But I've yet to ascertain what that might be,'

'You're not going to do anything... _silly_... are you?' Nadir asked.

'That would most certainly depend on your definition of silly,'

Nadir stared at his friend, Erik, Phantom, and he saw what he was capable of. If Erik could strike fear into Nadir, who had seen war, who was his friend, then Lord only knew what he could do in the Opera House.

* * *

Christine reached out to open the door to her room, she was only just in time for her lesson with Erik.

'Miss Daae,'

Her head shot up from the handle and she turned to face Joseph Buquet.

'Hello Joseph,' she said, smiling politely. 'I've told you... I'm Christine,'

He smiled, showing the gaps in his teeth. 'To some, maybe, but not to me,'

She frowned. 'Can I help you?' she asked.

'I was just wondering how you were,'

'Why?' she asked, too quickly. She was about to correct herself when he smiled again and stepped closer to her. She wasn't really sure what or why it was, but Joseph Buquet made her incredibly nervous.

'I was passing by,' he said. 'Was just wondering how you were,'

'Well,' she said, gripping the door handle behind her. 'I'm fine, thank you,'

'Good,'

She eyed him suspiciously, this whole event was bizarre. 'I'll see you later then,'

'Miss Daae,'

'Yes?'

'Beware who you spend your evenings with,' he said simply, turning and walking into the shadows. She would have questioned him about his statement if she could have found her way over the shock more quickly.

The door to her room opened and she stepped inside, removing her coat and hanging it on the back of the door. One look at the clock on her dressing table told her that her encounter with Joseph Buquet had made her late for her lesson.

She sat in the chair and waited.

'You're late,' he said, after a brief silence in the room.

'I'm sorry,'

'I've been waiting,' he said, quietly, almost menacingly.

'Not too long...' she realised as soon as the words left her mouth that this was a very bad idea.

'Not the point,' he boomed, making her want to cower. His voice was loud without him shouting, so powerful and deep that it sent vibrations through her.

'I'm sorry,' she said again, almost choking on the words.

'It's not good enough,'

She tried to steady her breathing. 'I'm sorry,' she repeated. 'I was held up,'

'What did he want?'

'Who?' she asked, momentarily too stunned to speak.

'Buquet,' he said, his voice cold and firm. 'What did he want?'

'To ask how I was,'

_'Why_?'

She blinked. 'That's what I asked him,'

'And his response?'

'I... he...' she stuttered. 'Erik... I'm so sorry I'm late, I didn't mean it... can we just start my lesson please...'

'What did he say?'

'He said he was just... wondering,'

'He is not a good man,'

'I wouldn't know what sort of a man he was, Erik,' she said softly. 'I spend no time with him...'

'He still made you late,'

'I didn't want to be rude,'

'You don't owe him anything,' he said. 'Do you?'

'Of course not,'

'Then why were you late?'

She buried her head in her hands, holding tears back. 'He caught me in the corridor,'

'I'm aware of that...'

'Then what are you asking me?' she asked.

'What made you stay and talk to him?'

'I didn't really talk to him,' she said, looking back up, taking a deep breath. 'I didn't... he caught me unawares,'

'Was he nasty to you?'

'No,' she said. 'He just makes me a little nervous, that's all,'

'Fine,' Erik said. 'Don't be late again,'

'I won't...' she said quietly. 'I'm sorry that I angered you...'

He allowed a silence to drop into the room for a few seconds before he said anything more; 'I shouldn't have been angered.'

Christine nodded, knowing that this, in some way, was his apology to her. 'What should we begin with tonight?'

'Start with 'Think of Me' ',

'Any particular reason?' she asked.

'You always need to be prepared,' he said. 'You have learnt the words, yes?'

She nodded. 'Of course,' she said. 'I know all of the words... just like you said,'

'Good,' he said.

'Shall I begin now?'

'In a moment,' he said. 'First, I want to ask you a question,'

'Alright,'

'What else did Joseph Buquet say to you?'

Not a question she was expecting but it only took her seconds to realise that this was a test. She had asked him to trust her, almost begged him, and now he was seeing if he could. It was fairly obvious that Erik had overheard her conversation with Joseph, now all she had to do was tell him the truth.

'He said to be careful who I spend my evenings with,'

'Have you told anyone about our lessons?' he asked, almost gently.

'No,' she said. 'There has been no reason for me to tell anyone,'

'Very well,' he said. 'Sing for me...'


	24. Because of You

**A/N: Humour me with my changes to Lefevre's departure. I like it better this way…**

**Chapter 23- Because of You**

The lights dipped and then glowed, dipped and then glowed. At least they knew that the gas was working properly. Not that that mattered particularly at this stage, there was still a few days until opening night. Antoinette was sitting in the fourth row, watching the chorus rehearse the opening scene of Act two. She had to admit that the whole thing was coming along nicely and much, much quicker than she had expected. The cast had already had three dress rehearsals.

There was another this afternoon.

She knew that she was spending too much of her time at the Opera Populair but, and not for the first time in her life, it was proving to be her sanctuary. It was simply that she could not face going home some days. She felt betrayal all around her there, everywhere she looked, Scott barely spoke and she knew that Laurent was still in the spare bedroom.

Scott insisted that he was not ready to leave, not well enough, but what was she to do? Laurent had turned his back on them after they had given him anything and everything he needed. Scott was always the optimist, Meg got that side of herself from him, believing that Laurent repented. Although she had forbidden it, she knew that Scott visited him to speak with him.

She supposed that she could not blame Scott for this, she must blame herself if anything, for marrying such a kind man. He and Meg liked to see the good in people. Not one conversation had happened in the house since Laurent had returned about the young girl he killed.

Laurent had started working for Gabriele Aiton and, as if to prove himself, he set the house of one of the debtors on fire. There was a young girl trapped in one of the upstairs room. As she screamed in the street for help, for mercy, Laurent had turned on his heel and allowed her to burn to death.

Antoinette was disgusted with him but at least he had had the good sense not to return to the Giry home. She had loved her brother, the one link to her past, to everything she did when she was young. She was much older than Laurent but that did not make them any less close. Scott had excepted him like a son and Laurent repaid them in shame.

Murder and shame.

The police gave up their manhunt some years ago for the group that had committed the offence, according to sources no one had seen nor heard a thing. Antoinette knew though, she had seen his flee and, eventually, Laurent wrote to her to tell her what had happened, begging for her silence.

She had been in two minds about handing the information to the police. She wasn't sure what stopped her in the end, but something did. It was the last nice thing she ever wanted to do for Laurent yet her hand had recently been forced.

She glanced up from her seat and her eyes drifted to box five where she saw a familiar sight. The white of his mask caught under the lamps and she felt her heart thud. She had not seen him up there for a long time and seeing him now gave her a shock.

She stared and as she did his head turned and she realised he was looking right at her. He waved his hand and then he disappeared into the darkness.

This encounter was the closest they have come in the years since they had fallen out, the wave was more than she expected. Perhaps it was a sign from him of some description, she knew only too well that he would not be very happy with the introduction of La Carlotta, but surely even he could see that she was popular. Monsieur Lefevre had done very well to convince her to come to the Opera Populair, Ubaldo Piangi went wherever she went... she expected Erik preferred Ubaldo to Carlotta.

The sudden urge to speak to him was not uncommon to her, whenever she felt low she had this wish that they were still friends. No one could understand Erik, she never fully expected to, but she liked to think that she knew him... just a little bit.

'Madame Giry,' She blinked away from box five to face Monsieur Lefevre, who was beaming from ear to ear.

'Hello,' she said, and smiled. She thought he deserved a smile, he had worked very hard these last few weeks.

'How are you?' he asked, taking the seat next to her and casting his eyes over the dancers on stage.

'I'm very well,' she lied. 'Thank you for asking. Now, how are you?'

He grinned, ear to ear. 'I'm fantastic,' he said, unable to control the  
excitement in his voice.

'Any particular reason?' she asked, though she suspected that she already  
knew.

'I am leaving,' he said. 'Emigrating in fact... Australia,'

'Good news for you,' she said simply.

'Oh no,' he said. 'Don't think I am deserting you... since the sales have been so good for the new opera well... two men have expressed interest in becoming joint managers and two other men are taking over as patrons,'

'Well,' Antoinette said, forcing a smile at him. 'This is all very good news,'

'Isn't it?' he said, beaming.

'When do the men arrive?' she asked.

'Tomorrow,' he said. 'During dress rehearsals,'

'At least they will have the opportunity to see the work that goes into a show of this magnitude,' she said.

'I detect a note of cynicism, Madame,' he said, the smile finally disappearing from his face.

'Just a little disappointed you are leaving before opening night,'

'No time like the present,' he said.

'How could you, Monsieur?' she asked and this obviously took him by surprise. 'This theatre...'

'This theatre has been hell these last few years,' he said simply, looking straight into her eyes. 'Make no mistake... if it were not for the ghost I would not be leaving at all,'

Antoinette was struck by the truth of this statement and also by something it was obvious Lefevre had not thought of.

'What if he does not want you to leave?' she asked.

His eyes widened. 'What possibly reason could he have for wanting me to stay?'

'His money,' she said simply.

'I can assure you,' he said with a sharp laugh. 'After the new managers have known our _ghost_ for a while... he will be getting his money from them,'

She had a retort but what was the point? Nothing would change the situation, he was leaving and the new managers arrived later that evening. When she glanced back up at his face she realised that he was staring at her, his eyes narrowed to almost slits.

'What is it?' she asked, feeling uncomfortable.

'It's just that I've noticed something,' he said. 'I'm not really sure why it never struck me before,'

She frowned. 'What's that?'

'You don't seem frightened,'

'Of what?' she asked, attempting to seem confused but knowing exactly whathe was talking about.

'Of him,' Lefevre said, 'Of the ghost... you... you've never seemed frightened,'

She shrugged. 'Nothing much frightens me,'

His frown deepened. 'This thing has killed people,' he said. 'That does not frighten you,'

She looked at him, searching his eyes, why now, why bring this up tonight? Was it because he was leaving or had he really not spotted it the whole time. She had always been quick enough to warn people about the Phantom of the Opera, she was well aware what he was capable of. In her heart, though she knew he could kill, he was still Erik to her. It was strange how this man, a killer, could bring so much fear around her and yet, not to her.

To Antoinette he was still the man that ignored her comments, let her speak freely, never harmed her...

'I only really fear for Meg's safety, Monsieur,' she said. 'And what has there been to fear lately?'

He blinked.

'You have been paying him,' she continued. 'And he had been fairly quiet... the odd murmur I am sure but he is happy with what has happened recently,'

Lefevre seemed to take this in. 'Well, I'm getting out of here before he decided he isn't happy anymore,'

Antoinette could say nothing, she simply nodded. She did not quite recall the day when Monsieur Lefevre had become a coward but she was sure it was fairly recent.

'I'm going to _Australia_,' he said. 'You know… a long way... long, _long_ way away from here,'

'I'm sorry to hear that,' she said softly, he was a good man after all. He _had_ tried.

His eyes drifted over her face and then he reached out and took her hands in his, the warmth in him seeping to her. 'Good luck, Madame,' he said, a tear clinging to his eyelashes. 'You have been very good to me,'

She smiled sadly, not really sure what to say.

'Tell your friend...' he smiled. 'Tell him I have no fight left... he has two new managers to butt heads with,'

Antoinette opened her mouth to deny the association but, instead, decided to remain silent. It was obvious that Lefevre knew, and though she would not be lying if she said that the phantom was not her friend, she realised there was little point. Lefevre would tell no one, anywhere anything about this or the ghost. It would be his secret to keep and his burden to bear.

He patted the back of her hand gently and turned away.

'Goodbye,' she said.

He glanced over his shoulder when he reached the door, 'Good bye,'

As the door clunked shut behind him she had a thought about Erik, it washed through her like water, Laurent had never harmed her either.

* * *

Louis was tapping his fingers on the table again. It annoyed Gabriele. The sound of the drumming, constant noise, made him want to cover his ears.

'Stop that,' Gabriele said, staring across at Louis.

'What?' Louis asked, glancing up at him.

'Your fingers,' Gabriele glared at them for effect. 'Doing that thing,'

Louis looked down at his hands and lifted them as he shrugged. 'Sorry,'

The funny thing was that Gabriele knew Louis could not help doing this, he had heard somewhere, probably from Erik, that people did things like this without even knowing it. It was called a nervous habit, something to do with a person unconscious mind, whatever that was.

Yes, must have been Erik.

'So,' Gabriele said, causing Louis to look over at him again. 'Where did you go the other night?'

Louis smiled. 'Took a girl out,' he said.

'Are you courting Louis, you old dog?' Gabriele teased.

'No,' he said, with a shrug. 'I took her out for Erik,'

'What on earth for?'

'He paid me to take this girl to the opera for him,'

Gabriele lifted his eyebrows. 'Was she...'

'She was beautiful, Gabriele,' Louis interrupted. 'Just... stunning,'

'Really?' Gabriele laughed, thinking of Erik and this beautiful woman. 'Is she his lover?'

'Apparently not,'

'No?'

Louis shook his head.

'Then what is she to him?'

'I'm really not sure,' Louis said, a frown creasing the skin on his forehead. Gabriele reached across and shoved the other man hard.

'So she's fair... game, then?' Gabriele grinned.

Louis glared at him. 'She isn't like that,'

'You like her?'

'She was nice,'

Gabriele smiled. 'Not at all what I mean and you know it,'

'She was just...' he sighed. 'This is a stupid conversation,'

'Why?'

'I don't know... maybe because we're about to go and beat the daylight out of some gentleman,'

'Not really a gentleman, Louis,' Gabriele replied. 'Lets not get our lines crossed here,'

He shrugged again.

'Tell me about her,' Gabriele said, 'We have time,'

'Why?'

'What?'

'Why are you so interested?' Louis asked, eyes fixed on Gabriele.

'Just asking...'

'Yes, I know that,'

'So tell me,' Gabriele grinned. 'Who stole your little heart,'

'Her names Christine,' he said.

'Pretty name,' Gabriele said.

'She's young,' Louis continued and Gabriele leaned forward. 'Lives at the opera house,'

'How young is young?'

'Maybe twenty,'

'Not too young,' he grinned.

Louis finally broke into a smile.

'Lives at the opera house,' Gabriele frowned. 'Which one?'

'Populair,'

Gabriele nodded, he knew it well.

'When are you going to ask her to accompany you on another outing?'

Louis laughed at this. 'Never,'

'Why not?'

'I think Erik is in love with her,'

'What would give you that impression?'

'He told me not to lay my hands on her or to let anyone else do so,'

'That could mean she's a relative,'

'No,' Louis said firmly. 'It was the way he said it...'

'I see,' Gabriele said, feeling a burn in his stomach. Erik Lambourne _loved_ something... actually felt the emotion. 'Does she have a full name?'

'Christine Daae,'

Gabriele's eyes shot open wide and he stared at the big man. 'Daae?'

He nodded. 'Know her?'

Gabriele grinned. 'Not... _exactly_,'


	25. A Star is Born

**A/N: I'm not sure if any of you heard (it only just caught my attention) that Andrew Lloyd Webber said (February time) that he was working on a sequel to 'The Phantom of the Opera' based on 'Phantom of Manhattan'. I will not give any judgement here, as this isn't the place. I'm not sure that it has been mentioned since. If anyone does wish to discuss this- in either camp- I would be happy to exchange pm's/ emails.**

**Thank you all for the reviews, sorry to those I haven't replied to yet. Hopefully any confusion over plot will be cleared up, keep asking questions though, it keeps me thinking- whether or not I answer them is another thing.**

**Sorry this is overdue, I'm starting to catch up with myself.**

**RR **

**Oh, by the way. I know we haven't seen much from Erik's perspective up to yet but I promise, it will come.**

**Chapter 24- A Star is Born**

Rehearsals were going well... very well, in fact. Erik was so far very impressed with the way the chorus behaved... there were some small problems, ones that he was sure Antoinette Giry would iron out by opening night. She had never given him a reason not to have confidence in her ability to do her  
job.

He was sitting in box five, hidden by the shadows, watching all of the dress rehearsals. The chorus were coming back off stage now and he caught a glimpse of Christine. His heart thudded and he held his chest for what seemed like an eternity. He waited for her to come back onto the stage and when she did, she was accompanied by Meg Giry. She said something, young Meg laughed, and Christine smiled.

_Dazzling, radiant smile.  
_  
Concentrate, Erik.

They were waiting now, no doubt, for the new managers of the opera house. He had heard Antoinette speculate that he would not be happy that Lefevre was leaving, the truth was, Erik could not be happier. Monsieur Lefevre had, he had to admit, been good to the theatre for many years. Now, his time he had run it's course and his usefulness was all but diminished.

Erik was not without mercy, he had already allowed Lefevre to leave without a word spoken between them. It was a good and welcome challenge for Erik to see new managers, there was no point putting his skills to waste.

He saw the two men walk on, one was tall with dark hair and a miserable looking face and the other was shorter, fairer and altogether happier. The grumpy looking one might be hard work but the cheerful man, well, no problem at all. He was sure that it would not take him a very long time to dispel any optimism between the two.

He listened.

'Good evening, good evening,' Cheerful said. Erik found himself smiling.

All of the people of the stage looked at them in silence. His eyes drifted to Antoinette who was standing at the back, back straight, staring directly at the two men. She was as important to his successful operation of the theatre as Erik was. Antoinette always made sure they knew how dangerous the Phantom of the Opera was.

'I am Gilles Andre,' So, that was cheerful, Erik thought, welcome Monsieur Andre. 'And this is Richard Firmin,'

Erik almost laughed, it was as though he was expecting something far more imaginative of Grumpy, than Richard.

'We are the new managers of the Opera Populaire and are both very proud to be her, isn't that right, Richard?' he glanced at his partner.

'Indeed,' Firmin said, his voice was deep and monotone.

Erik shook his head. These men knew as much about music as Erik knew about kindness.

Namely, not very much at all.

He had always been in the belief that the manager of any musical establishment should at least have some musical understanding.

'Carlotta, Carlotta,' Andre said as she approached him. To Erik's surprise and utter disgust, Andre almost bowed. Firmin, however, managed some pretence of dignity, choosing simply to kiss her hand.

And then, as if to affirm Erik's original musical judgement of the two men, Andre said, 'I'm a big fan… we _both_ are,'

Well, _that _settles _that_ then. At least Lefevre understood music, could play the piano. Not as well as he probably would have liked but he wasn't a bad hand at it.

'Who is in charge of the stage then?' Andre said, still grinning like a fool as he kept hold of Carlotta's hand.

No one said anything, they remained silent, still staring at the two new managers. Erik briefly wondered what they were all thinking to keep them so quiet.

'No one?' Andre said, with a small laugh.

There were uncomfortable shifts around the stage but still, everyone stayed silent, no one answered his question.

Finally, Meg Giry visibly sighed and said, 'Monsieur Reyer is our director,' she said.

'Then he is in charge,'

'I am the director,' Reyer said, looking around him. 'This does not mean that I am in charge,'

'Don't be silly man,' Andre said, grinning once again. 'Stand up and be counted,'

'I don't think you understand,' Reyer said, almost growled. This caused Andre's eyes to open wider, a movement Erik found most amusing.

'What is it that I do not understand, monsieur?' he asked. All eyes were on Reyer.

'Soon,' he said simply. 'Soon you will understand...'

Andre and Firmin both looked at each other in confusion. Their gazes shifted around the quiet room, at each individual. When Erik looked for Antoinette he realised that she had gone.

'Why soon?' Andre said, finally twisting his attention back to Reyer. 'Why can't you make me understand?'

Reyer actually laughed. 'Because you have to witness it to believe it,' he said. 'Soon, I'm sure,'

Spot on Reyer, much sooner than you probably think.

* * *

Antoinette had seen Erik in box five again while she was standing at the back of the stage waiting for Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin. When she spotted that his attention was on the managers she had slipped out the back, out of his view. Something about the way he looked around him made her shiver, made her uncomfortable and so she had snuck behind the curtains to break his gaze.

She could still here what the two new managers were saying, she heard her daughter point Monsieur Reyer out to the two men, she heard Monsieur Reyer uncomfortably, half answer their questions. She wondered just how quickly Erik would make himself known to the two managers.

When she heard Reyer instruct people to get into their positions to lead up to _'Think of me'_ she slid back on to the stage and looked up.

Box five was empty.

'Is everyone ready to show our new managers what they have come in to?' Monsieur Reyer said. There were nods as everyone finished getting into position. The music began, Reyers arms moved and the elephant was drawn onto the stage. Ubaldo Piangi sat on top, his voice pouring out over the stage.

She watched as it all continued, but a sense of foreboding interrupted her, she looked around her. There seemed nothing out of sorts but her stomach churned. Erik rarely watched rehearsals.

Carlotta made her way to the centre of the stage, bursting into a rendition of _'Think of Me'_, the managers stared at her in awe, but she was oblivious as she sang out to the empty room. If nothing else, her voice was powerful and her presence popular. Her being there had not only encouraged ticket sales, it had brought new managers and even new patrons.

Things were looking up for the theatre but there was something wrong here.

_It was too late by the time she noticed what it was.  
_  
Half way through a line, Carlotta was interrupted by the creaking above her head as a beam came clattering down towards her. She leapt away just in time and lay, mouth ajar the floor, staring at the chunk of wood.

One of the girls from the chorus screamed _Phantom_ and many of the other girls scattered to the sides of the stage. Andre and Firmin looked up and around them but, of course, there was no one there.

Antoinette _had_ seen him though, just before he released the rope holding the wood. It was too late by this point to warn anyone and she had been forced to watch, in horror, as the beam fell towards Carlotta.

There was no doubt in her mind that Erik had intended to kill Carlotta and would probably be most disappointed in failing to do so. Antoinette knew that this was no La Diva's first encounter with the phantom. He had been leaving things in her dressing room for weeks now.

This was, apparently, the final straw.

After a moments lull, where everyone, too astonished to speak, stood there dumbstruck, Carlotta began to scream. Andre, the more energetic of the two managers, ran to her and helped her to her feet, closely followed by Ubaldo. Her screaming subsided after several ear shattering minutes and she stared around her in silence.

'I have had it,' she said, firmly.

The two managers looked at one another. 'Had what?' Firmin asked.

'Had it,' she said. 'This has gone on long enough... I will not perform,'

'Carlotta,' Andre said, gently. 'These things do happen,'

'Si...' she said, her eyes ablaze. 'They do happen, don't they? They do happen a lot in this place... strange things do happen... but until you stop these things from... happening... then me... this... does not happen,'

With that she snatched at Ubaldo arm and dragged him off the stage and finally out of view. The two managers stared at each other, despair plastered on their faces.

'I think she meant it,' Firmin said, stating the obvious.

Andre nodded, for the first time, looking solemn. 'What do we do?'

The statement was greeted with a shrug from Firmin.

'We have no singer, Richard,' Andre snapped. 'What do we do?'

'How should I know?' he snapped back. 'I've been here only as long as you have,'

'Understudy...' he said. 'Carlotta must have an understudy,'

They both looked around them and finally their gazes rested on Antoinette. She shook her head, informing them by that simple gesture that no, there were no understudy's.

'There are no understudy's...' Firmin said, shaking his head as he looked around him.

Everyone sat in stunned silence, staring at their new managers.

It was, to Antoinette's surprise, Meg who broke through the quiet. 'Christine Daae can do it,'

There were gasps and titters around the room, people talking but not actually saying much. Antoinette saw Christine glare at her friend.

'She can do it,' Meg repeated. 'She's been learning,'

Antoinette smiled, so Erik has been teaching her to sing.

'Who is Christine Daae?' Andre asked.

Meg pushed her forward.

'You can sing?' Firmin asked her, frowning.

Before Christine could answer, Antoinette stepped forward, thinking of Erik. 'She has been taught well, Monsieur,'

Andre glanced at her before looking back at Christine.

'You don't look like much of an opera star,' he said.

And what does an opera singer look like, Antoinette thought.

'Well,' he said. 'Give us a demonstration,'

All eyes were on Christine as she stepped gingerly to the centre of the stage. She stood behind the beam, looking up to the ceiling.

Reyer was frowning when he asked her if she was ready. Her nod was enough and the music from the orchestra began.

Christine's singing started quietly, timidly. She looked frightened and out of her depth but then she closed her eyes and really sang. Her voice was beautiful, it stood tall and carried itself around the room. Antoinette stared, as stunned as everyone else, as she let her soul into the words.

Antoinette watched as Andre clapped his hands together, back to his grinning self. 'Brilliant,' he said.

Firmin nodded.

'Do you know all of the songs?' he asked.

Christine simply nodded.

'Have you ever done this before?'

'No,' she said softly.

'Do you think that you can do this?'

She nodded and Antoinette felt a wave of relief wash over her. She only hoped that the audience who had so obviously paid to see Carlotta did not mind. It was true, though she had not heard it before, Christine had the most beautiful voice.

Sweet yet strong, an odd and powerful combination.

Antoinette, for the first time in many years, felt excited about a show.


	26. What You're Made Of

**Chapter 25- What You're Made Of.**

'Was it you?' she asked the silent room. It did not respond and so she slumped onto her bed, resting her head back against the wall.

_It never hurts to have an understudy.  
_  
Christine did not believe in jumping to conclusions but in instances such as this, it was difficult not to. Odd, she thought, how a beam happened to plummet towards Carlotta during one of the very last rehearsals before the show began. Stranger also, she thought, that Erik had been teaching her the songs to the opera...

She released the sigh that had been building and waited patiently. If he was not already there he certainly would be soon.

Christine had never sung in front of a group of people before let alone in front of a full audience in one of the best known opera houses in the world.

Nerves tickled her spine as she sat quietly, waiting.

She did not wait long.

'Was it you?' she asked, when she heard the noise she had come to associate with Erik's presence.

'Was what me?' he asked, sounding almost casual. 'You'll have to be more specific,'

She smiled inwardly. 'Did you drop the beam?'

'What beam?'

'You know very well what beam' she said, and then added, 'You sound like a naughty school boy,'

'Hmm,' he said. 'Must work harder at disinterest,'

Christine stopped herself from laughing, she was supposed to be angry with him, she should be, _needed_ to be, angry at him. He had dropped a full wooden beam crashing down towards a member of cast, a human being...

'Be serious,'

'I'm always serious,' he said.

'Then be more serious,'

'Very well,'

She rolled her eyes. 'Was it you?'

'Again...' he said. 'What?'

'The beam,' she sighed. 'Falling... ring any bells?'

Stop teasing, she thought, this is not a teasing moment.

'Yes,' he said simply.

'Why?' she asked, stunned that he had answered her so bluntly.

He was quiet for a moment. 'I didn't hurt anyone,'

'You could have,' she said, firmly. Or at least what she _hoped_ was firmly.

'Well, I know that,' he said. 'I tried to,'

'Erik...' she was surprised but not entirely shocked.

'She's alive isn't she?' he said. She opened her mouth to make some sort of protest but he cut her off. 'And unharmed in every possible way,'

'Except for her being very upset,'

'She was already quite disturbed,' he answered coolly.

'And the person who tried to drop a wooden beam on her head is..?'

'Perfectly rational,' he responded and this time, to her great shame, she smiled.

'It was wrong of you,' she said.

'Apparently so,' he replied. 'Yet it all somehow worked out for the best,'

'Not for Carlotta,'

'Ah,' he said. 'Well, that would require some sympathy on my part and I'm afraid that you get all of that so... I'm all out of the substance,'

She felt a sudden wave cross over her, a sadness, an anger...

'You won't always get away with this, you know?' she said, without the anger, with the sadness, with care.

'Why on earth not?'

'People will...' she paused, looking around her. 'They will want answers eventually, Erik,'

'Then let them ask their questions,'

'What if you ... get hurt?'

'If that happens then it happens,' he said. 'However, I find that an unlikely scenario...'

'Still, it's a possibility,' she said, placing a hand on her churning stomach.

'Always,' he did not disagree.

'Erik...' she said.

'Yes?'

'Those people...' her heart was in her mouth blocking her words.

'Which people?'

She swallowed it back down. 'That died... did you..?'

'Kill them?' he asked.

She nodded.

'What do you think?' he asked.

'I don't know,' she said. 'That's why I'm asking,'

After a brief pause he made a whistling noise. 'This trust thing is very hard work,'

'Don't joke...'

'Fine,' he snapped. 'Did I kill them? Is that what you're asking me?'

Another nod, she was full of intelligent comments today.

'Yes,' was his simple and sharp response.

For some reason Christine felt her heart drop, as if she did not already know, as if she did not already know who and what he was. She knew that she fooled herself about him, blinded herself to any faults he might have. She supposed that she did not know him well enough to make judgements about him but to _kill_ someone...

'Why?' she finally asked.

'It's a long story, Christine,' he said, his voice cool. 'One for another time,'

'You will never tell me,'

'One day I will tell you,'

'And now..?'

'I told you the truth, I answered what you asked of me,'

'Did you have... reason to kill them?' she asked, her throat was dry.

'More reason than I had to kill Carlotta,' he said. 'So probably best that I did not succeed, yes?'

She nodded. 'It's wrong to kill people Erik, you know that,'

'I do,'

'Yet you seem ... fine...'

'That's because I am,'

'Why are you so fine with that? With killing..?' she asked. 'Do you feel no guilt?'

'No guilt,' he said simply. 'Sometimes there are instances where killing is... necessary, whether it is acceptable or not,'

'I don't...' she swallowed. 'I'm not sure I agree,'

'You don't have to,' he said.

She sat perfectly still, letting their conversation sink into her, letting herself think about it. It was not as if she did not know, that she could cope with, knowing. What bothered her was his cold indifference, his simple and emotionless answers. It worried her, frightened her and yet... what really terrified her was that this did not bother her. She was prepared to accept that he had his reasons... and this frightened her most of all.

She had known him for months yet she did not know him at all, the rare snippets she got she treasured as though they were gold.

'You're very quiet,' he said simply.

She nodded, to what she was not sure... to who, even less sure.

'Am I to assume this creates a problem between us?' he asked.

She looked at her fingers, her shoulders felt tense. She had joked with him, teased him, about the beam, about Carlotta... was she so prepared to continue her approach when he openly admits to murder?

'I should probably take your silence as a yes,' he said, his voice low but not angry. There was something else there, something she almost did not recognise in him. 'But you should know...'

She waited, still with baited breath, she could not get enough of his voice, of his company. Her stomach turned over.

'...I only do what I feel I have to,' he continued, as Christine bunched her dress up in her fists. 'I... don't want this to change anything between us. You need to understand that I have grown to care about you... very deeply. I have never cared so much for anyone else before in my life, I want what is best for you,'

She blinked but did not interrupt.

'We all do our best with what we are given,' he said, his voice soft. 'You will learn that about me soon enough. You did ask me to trust you, Christine, and I feel I just made my biggest confession to you. I'd like you to think of it that way,'

She did not know what to say. He was right, it was a big confession, it was a _trustful_ confession...

'Perhaps, at least until the opera is over, you could give me the benefit of the doubt?'

The statement, or question, or whatever it was, hung there in the air between them. Though she could not see him the feeling of him pulled her like the sun with the planets. She had no choice.

He had told her that he cared for her... cared for her more than anyone. She hated to admit that she was heartened by this but she had to. It was what she had wanted for many months.

'Am I being given the benefit of the doubt, Christine?'

His voice cradled her name, gently holding it, caressing it, making it sound like it had never sounded before. Her ears welcomed the sound of it on his lips like she welcomed the smell of soap or the warm sun of her face. The things she loved, her _favourite_ things.

'Yes,'

'Good,' he said, his voice gentle and smooth.

Silk.

'I need to practise,' she said, with a tone that she hoped was equally gentle.

'You do,'

She smiled. 'Shall I go from the beginning,'

'Indeed,' he said. 'Where every good story starts,'

* * *

Laurent looked at himself in the mirror. The bruises were all but gone from his face and arms but the ones on his body were being stubborn. He ran his finger gently over the healing cut on his head and winced as he caught a loose section of skin. There were some things to be happier about, he thought, as he sucked in a long deep breath. His ribs no longer hurt, he could take full gulps of air, his legs worked better than they had in a long time.

Scott was still being cautious, sometimes Laurent would fall over from fatigue. His body was not quite ready to be well yet. His mind, though, told him that over two months was too long to be in one place. Scott still objected to his leaving, saying that he was lucky to be alive.

Laurent knew that he was lucky to be alive. This was one lesson that Scott Giry could not teach him. He knew, deep down, that there was so much he could learn from him. Scott was good natured and intelligent, he knew how to look out for his family, provide for them... he knew how to have them.

Laurent had lost all of this.

Still, as much as he enjoyed Scott's company, he knew that his time in his sister's house was very nearly up. He wondered why it was that Gabriele had not sent some of the other thugs out the find him. Perhaps they thought he was probably overcome by his injuries... he certainly _hoped_ they thought this.

He hoped that they did not send Louis.

Now all he had to do was convince Scott that he was ready to leave.

The knock at the door startled him. 'Hello?'

'It's me,'

_Meg_.

'Come in,' he said, and sat on the windowsill.

Meg walked in with a plate of biscuits and a drink of tea, she was a sight for sore eyes. She had spent very little time with him since he had been here and whenever he saw her his heart would swell.

He was so proud of her.

'I thought you might like some of these,' she said. 'They are freshly baked,'

'Am I to assume that you didn't bake them?' he asked, with a wink.

'Uncle Laurent,' she mock gasped. 'I don't know what it is that you're suggesting but I am a very homely young woman...'

He grinned. 'Right,'

'Right,' she said. 'Cook baked them,'

'And here's me thinking someone had transformed my little niece into a domestic princess,'

She smiled. 'My mother says I should start to be more...'

'Girly?' he asked.

This time she beamed. 'I just like to dance,'

'You'll never marry...' he teased.

'Don't be silly Laurent,' she said. 'I'm too pretty not to marry,'

'Men like to be taken care of,'

'I like to be taken care of,'

He leapt up and grabbed her around the waist lifting her from the ground. 'You're too used to it, that's what your problem is,' he said as she giggled like she was six again. He liked to be like this with Meg, he loved her so dearly. To him she would always be six years old, his six year old niece who loved and worshipped him... who listened to every word he said, watched everything he did.

Eventually, after she kicked his shin and his torso began to ache he placed her carefully on the edge of the bed so that she was sitting.

'Good to see you feeling well,' she said softly.

He caught his breath. 'Maybe not well,' he said, holding his side. 'But much better,'

'I had better go,' she said. 'My father will tell me off for causing you to move too much,'

'You can stay,' he said. 'Share the biscuits,'

'No,' she said and smiled. 'I have already eaten more than I should,'

'You really can't stay?' he asked and hoped that he did not sound too much like he was pleading.

She shook her head. 'I'm sorry,' she said and, to her credit, she at least looked it.

'The new show opens soon,' he said, trying not to sound to disappointed. 'I suppose you need to practise,'

She nodded and pecked his cheek. 'I'll come by later,'

'I'm sure you will,' he forced her a smile.

'I will,'

'I don't doubt it,'

'I really will,'

'I'm not being sarcastic,' he said. 'I'll see you later,'

With a sorrowful glance over her shoulder she opened the door and stepped through, leaving Laurent alone once again.


	27. Old Friends 2

**Chapter 26- Old Friends**

The crowd bustled around him and he brushed through, making his way to the guard at the door. With a smile the guard stepped aside and allowed him to pass. He stepped into the box and looked around him, his eyes drifted over the curtains blocking the stage, the rows up on rows of velvet covered seats...

He felt a firm hand on his shoulder as he sat in his seat.

'Rather a lovely theatre, isn't it?' his brother said, as he took the seat next to him.

With a nod, he simply let his eyes continue to take in the sight before him. The beautiful chandelier overhead was just the final touch of elegance. His brother did make some good decisions after all.

People below were getting into their seats, there was a hum about the place, a great atmosphere that made his nerves tingle. It had been a long time since he had been to the theatre, he forgot how beautifully normal he felt when he was here, it was nice to allow other people to do the entertaining.

A lull fell around the place and slowly the side lights began to dip leaving on the lights around the stage glowing brightly. The curtains began to draw back and the orchestra started to play, softly, introducing themselves to the audience. He knew from talking to some of the guests that many of them had some to see Carlotta and now, from their talk, he was looking forward to seeing her too.

She was not in the opening scene and he waited patiently. The chorus were very good, the music was well timed, everything seemed to be going well.

At least it was going well until the leading lady entered the stage from the left. He felt Philippe's hand in his arm, his fingers digging in. Raoul turned to face him, frowning.

'What is wrong with you?' he asked.

Philippe scowled. 'That is _not_ Carlotta,' he hissed, his eyes blazing with anger.

'How do you know?' he said. 'You can barely see her from here,'

'Because,' he sighed. 'Carlotta is around four times this young lady's size,'

Raoul frowned and glanced back out at the stage and then let his eyes fall up on the audience. They, too, had noticed that this was not the woman they had all paid to see. They were whispering, some had already stood to leave. Raoul felt his heart crawl into his mouth.

But then, _she sang.  
_  
The men and woman who had stood and begun to walk away, slowly turned around and directed their attention back to the stage. It was no longer possible for Raoul to watch the audience as his own senses were drawn towards the stage. The young woman glided to the centre, singing powerfully yet somehow softly, and it was then that he recognised her.

'Philippe,' he said, grabbing his brother's jacket as he stood.

Philippe, also seemingly mesmerised, simply stood with him, eyes fixed on the stage. 'What?'

'That's...' he frowned and stared harder, was he right?

'That's what?' Philippe asked, glancing briefly as Raoul.

'Is it...' he looked again. 'Is that Christine?'

'Your friend Christine?' he asked.

Raoul nodded, not allowing his eyes to leave her face for one moment.

'I...'

'It is!' Raoul said, grinning. 'It's Christine...'

'It doesn't look...'

'Believe me brother,' Raoul said, his heart pounding. 'She may not be quite so gawky as she once was... in fact, she is utterly beautiful... but, believe me, it is Christine...'

Philippe leaned forward, staring at her harder. 'So it is...'

'Isn't she wonderful?' Raoul said, his pulse wild.

'Yes,' Philippe said, eyes wide. 'She really is...'

* * *

'Have you seen Christine?' Meg asked her mother as she wandered across the back of the stage. The applause was still coming from the audience, despite the fact that the who had been over for nearly five minutes.

Also, in that five minutes, Christine had managed to disappear.

'No,' her mother replied. 'But when you find her, tell her from me, she did very well,'

Meg nodded and rounded the corner into one of the corridors at the back. She had already checked Christine's room and there was no sign there of her friend. It was unusual for Christine to leave right after a show without at least speaking to Meg... saying that, Christine had been doing a lot of unusual things lately.

There was only one place she hadn't checked and so she descended the steps into the Opera Populaire chapel. Christine was sitting in the corner of the room staring up out of the small window in the corner. Other than that window there was nowhere for natural light to come into the room. Meg lifted the candle from next to the door and walked over the Christine.

'What's wrong?' she asked, as she sat opposite her friend.

Christine looked at her as if she had not noticed her enter the room. 'Nothing,'

'What are you doing down here on your own?' she asked.

'Thinking,'

'What about?' Meg asked.

'Just thinking,'

'You look so melancholy,' Meg said, reaching out and touching Christine's cold hand. 'You should be celebrating... everyone loved you, you were perfect,'

'Perfect by who's standards?' she asked, strange question.

'Mine,' Meg said. 'My mothers, the managers, the audience... everyone that matters...'

'Not _everyone_ that matters, Meg,'

'Who matters more than the audience?' she asked, confused.

Christine seemed to ignore the question. 'I made a couple of errors,'

'Really?' Meg frowned. 'I didn't notice... no one seemed to notice,'

'Well, I did,'

'But if no one noticed then how can you be so upset,'

'He will have noticed,'

Meg stared at her friend for a minute, trying to figure her out, trying to work out what on earth was going on. 'Your teacher?'

Christine said nothing.

'Who is this new tutor, Christine?'

'He is brilliant...'

Meg nodded.

'Do you remember, I told you once that my father always told me that if he ever left he would send me an angel of music?'

'I remember,'

'He sent one,'

'Your tutor?'

Christine nodded. 'He may not be an angel in the mythical sense but he is certainly an angel in every other,'

'Angels don't exist,'

'I don't mean it like that Meg,' she said. 'Can't you see?'

Meg said nothing, just stared at her friend moist eyes.

'My father was such a good man, a kind and intelligent man,' she said. 'I was a child when he told me about this angel... don't act as though I have lost my senses completely, I know he isn't God's messenger...' she laughed and to Meg, it sounded bitter. 'Believe me, I know that he is not God's messenger,'

'Then what do you mean by angel?' Meg asked.

'I mean he had become my protector...' Christine whispered. 'He has become my friend, my teacher and my protector,'

Meg felt her heart beat hard. 'You and he are not...'

'Lovers, Meg?' Christine asked. 'No,'

She felt the shot of relief in her system but it was short lived.

'But part of me...'

'Don't say it, Christine,' Meg said. 'You have barely known him five minutes,'

'He is an angel,' Christine said. 'He is my angel at the very least,'

Meg smiled at this. 'I'm sorry I snapped at you,' she said.

Christine shook her head as if telling her not to worry.

'What is his name?'

Christine looked at her. 'I can't tell you,'

'Why on earth not?' Meg smiled but was beginning to feel uneasy again.

'He asked me not to tell anyone,'

'The mysterious type,'

This time Christine's laugh was warm. 'I suppose you could call him that, yes,'

'He is a singer then?'

'He is many things,' Christine said. 'Some of them not good...'

'What do you mean?'

Christine seemed, at that moment, to snap out of a trance. She jumped to her feet and walked quickly to the door.

'I don't mean anything,' she said sharply. 'I have said more than I wish to say for one evening,'

'Christine,' Meg followed her. 'What are you so afraid of?'

'Why do you say that I am afraid?'

'You run away, you avoid my questions... you are scared that you made mistakes tonight,'

'I don't want to disappoint him,'

'Then perhaps he is putting too much pressure on you,'

Christine turned to look at Meg. 'Please Meg,' she said, almost gently. 'Do not make comments about things you do not understand,'

Meg was about to ask her friend to make her understand when she saw the look in her eyes. She realised that their conversation was over, she knew that it was probably not going to start again either.

* * *

'Bravisimi,' was the first thing that Christine heard when she stepped into her room. She felt a blush creep along her cheeks as she picked up the rose from her bed.

'Thank you,' she said. 'The rose is beautiful,'

'No,' he said. 'Thank _you_,'

'What for?' she asked as she sat in the chair near the wall mirror.

'For being so wonderful on stage tonight,'

'I made... errors,' she said, swallowing hard.

'Nothing fatal,' he said. 'But I heard them,'

'You don't seem angry,'

'I'm not angry,'

'But...'

'But nothing, Christine,' he said. 'We can work on the mistakes, they were minor at worst... you were truly magnificent this evening,'

She smiled, in spite of her own disappointment.

'Don't be too angry with yourself,' he said. 'We will work on it,'

'I know...'

'Then why do you look so incredibly sad?'

'It's nothing,' she said.

'It is obviously something,'

'I wish...' she stopped herself quickly.

'What do you wish?' Erik asked.

'I wish many things,' she said. 'But I wish my father could have seen me tonight,'

'He would have been very proud, I'm sure,'

She nodded.

'But that wasn't what you were going to say, was it, Christine?'

There he was again, making her name warm in his voice, making it sound seductive and soft. Her heart gave a thump as she took a breath.

'No,'

'What do you wish, Christine?'

_Stop saying my name_, she thought, feeling her heart ache.

'I wish I could see you...'

'Well...' he began but was halted by the hard knocking at her bedroom door. She looked around her and when Erik did not continue speaking she stood to answer the door.

When it opened she had the shock of her life.


	28. Become

**A/N: Partly paraphrased from ALW, not mine (boo hoo)**

**Basically unedited and should have gone up yesterday but I'm poorly.**

**Chapter 27- Become**

Raoul couldn't help it, could not stop himself, he bashed the door with his fist and felt his heart race. It was not long before the door creaked open and she was standing in front of him, tall, slim and completely stunning.

He smiled but she simply stood there staring, her eyes fixed on his face. He wondered for a moment whether or not she recognised him, he took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.

'Christine,' he said, still smiling. He just couldn't stop. 'It's Raoul,'

After a moment longer she nodded her head, 'I know,' she said. 'You haven't changed much,'

He grinned, feeling like a silly school boy but by the same token, feeling deliriously happy. 'Can I come in?' he asked.

'I'm getting changed,' she said.

'You're dressed now,'

'I have to change,' she said, standing completely still.

'Aww, Lotte,' he said. 'Come on, it's been so long,'

She blinked at the name but said nothing, standing firm in the doorway. He wondered what was wrong with her, this was not the Christine he remembered.

'Lets talk,' he said. 'Let us _remember_,'

'We...'

'Christine…_remember_... let your mind wander...'

She nodded.

'Your father playing the violin while we sat in front of the open fire... the ghost stories,'

'I remember,' she said softly.

'Am I fonder or gargoyles or dolls...'

She moved her lips in the shadow of a smile. 'I remember that too,'

'Then let's go for dinner,' he grinned. 'Get changed, I'll take you out,'

'I can't Raoul,'

'Really, Christine,' he reached out, taking her hands in his. 'You were just amazing tonight, wonderful,'

'Thank you,' she said and her cheeks flushed.

'Let me tell you more,' he said. 'Lets go out, come along now, it will be enormous fun... like we used to have,'

'I don't...'

'No _buts_, no _no's_,' he grinned, pulling her into his arms. 'Just the way it used to be...'

When she pulled away her eyes were moist, she stared at him in silence, watching his face as if she was expecting something from him. He wondered what had happened to her to make her look so sad but whatever it was he was here and he was sure he could rectify it.

'I will go and tell my brother, then I will come back and collect you,' he said. Christine's mouth opened as if she were about to say something but he held his hand up. 'I've missed you so much, Christine, so very much,'

She did not respond.

'I will be back in a few minutes,' he said. 'That should give you time enough to change,'

Again, she did not say a word, she simply stood there looking at him. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek as gently as he could and then he smiled at her.

'I will see you in a little while,' he said. 'Why we ever lost contact... I don't know but I'm not going to let that happen again,'

As he ran to find Philippe he heard the door click shut behind him and he thought he heard the sound of the lock turning too.

* * *

Christine pressed her back to the door as she heard Raoul's footsteps get further away. She was tired and dizzy. When she gathered her bearings again she half stumbled towards her bed, where she sat down, holding her head in her hands. It had been so long since she had see Raoul.

The room was silent for a while and she knew from experience that Erik would not be happy about the interruption. She was, so far, unsure how he would feel about her visitor being a man.

_'Insolent boy_,' his voice broke the silence around her.

'That was...'

'A friend of yours,' Erik snapped.

'An _old_ friend of mine,'

'What is he doing here?'

It struck her, at that moment, and she realised why Raoul was there. 'I would assume he and his brother are the new patrons,' she said.

'De Chagny?' Erik said. 'The De Chagny's are old friends of yours?'

'Not all of them... just Raoul,'

'Why Raoul in particular?' Erik asked, his voice was laced with what could only be described as contempt.

'We met on holiday...'

'Your sweetheart,' Erik said, cutting her off mid-sentence. 'He is the old sweetheart you told me about,'

She nodded, swallowing.

'And he _misses_ you,'

She said nothing in response.

'How dare he waltz back into your life and bask in your glory,' He snapped. 'You don't see him for years, he does not bother to lift his pen to you yet here he is, attempting to be your suitor when you have finally made the headlines you deserve?'

She blinked at his anger but chose to stay quiet. She supposed he had a point but he did not know it all, he did not know the full story, it wasn't Raoul's fault.

'Are you listening to me, Christine?'

'Of course,' she managed to choke.

'You were in love?' he asked but no softness had entered his tone. Even the subject of her heart could not blunt the sharp edge of his anger.

'We thought we were,' she said softly. 'We were too young to understand,'

'Oh,' Erik said. 'And so now that you are older, both of you understand well enough to try again?'

'I didn't say that,' she said. 'I really had no idea that he was here,'

Silence dropped into the room and she sat there feeling uncomfortable.

'Christine,' he said finally and she looked around her.

'Yes?'

'Look at your face in the mirror,'

She frowned but stood from the bed and did as she was told. 'What now?'

'I'm inside,' he said.

She blinked. 'In the mirror?'

As she said this the glass slid across the wall and left a gap behind it, she held her breath as she waited, finally she saw an arm and then, at long last, his face. She was taken aback, shocked to see one half covered with a white mask, but she did not care. He was tall, so tall, and wide across his shoulders.

His hair was black as the night, his body clothed in a dark suit and white shirt. He looked crisp and clean, fresh. She looked up at him, his eyes were the darkest blue, the most striking colour she had ever seen.

When his hand reached out she placed hers, without hesitation, into it. His touch was cool but as his thumb covered the top of her hand she suddenly felt comfortable. She stepped over the edge of the wall and into the corridor, it was dark and cold and instinctively she stepped closer to his body, to try to feel his warmth.

When she was standing next to him he carefully closed the glass behind him and she was allowed the view of her room as he saw it. It was strange that she felt so comfortable knowing that he could see her all the time, whenever he chose. Something so frightening should put her off, she knew, and yet it barely bothered her one bit.

'When are we going?' she asked, as she heard a thumping coming from in her room. She figured that Raoul was back.

He glanced down at her and even in the blackness his eyes were piercing. 'Do you trust me?' he asked.

'Yes,' she said, without even thinking about it.

'Then stay close to me,' he said, keeping her hand firmly in his. She followed him along the corridors, he held a small lantern, barely bright enough to allow her to see him in front of her. She wondered how on earth he found his way in the dark.

They seemed to be going down, the air gradually became cooler, and as they rounded another corner her head began to spin. She stood still and he turned to look at her.

'What is it?' he asked.

'My head...' she said. 'Just give me a minute,'

And so he did. They stood there in the dark, cold corridor the smell of earth surrounding them, in silence. She did not know what to say to him and did not seem to have the inclination to speak to her. He kept looking at her though, it was hard not to feel his eyes on her skin.

A pleasant shiver crossed the width of her back.

'I'm ready,' she said quietly, and with that he picked up the pace again. She was surprised when they reached a section of mirrors lining the walls.

Erik stopped and turned to look at her. 'Stay very close, don't let go on my hand,'

She gripped his hand tighter, feeling it warm in her palm. He plunged into the mirrors and immediately she was lost in the maze, everything seemed to be a reflection and so she was forced to blindly follow his every movement. She stuck close to him, as he had insisted, and now she understood why. When they were finally out the other side he turned to face her again, as if to check that she was still there.

With a quick nod of his head they were moving again. It wasn't long before he slowed down. 'Keep your back to the wall, keep hold of me,'

And again, she did what she was told, sticking to the wall and following it's edge along until they reached another three corridors.

'Always take the left corridor,' he said to her and led her along it, pulling her away from the wall.

They descending another set of stairs and walked around another corner where she was greeted by the sight of a long underground river that disappeared into the darkness. There was a mist, she assumed from the cold, hanging above the water.

'Wait here,' he said. 'Do not move,'

She nodded and stood completely still, almost afraid to breath. He vanished around a corner and when he came back he was not on foot, instead he was on a small boat drifted on the water. When he arrived in front of her he placed on foot on the ground and then held his hand out to her again.

She took it and stepped into the boat.

'You can relax,' he said, without looking back at her. 'Lie back,'

She did as she was told, sitting at the back of the boat and looking up at him.

'When I sing... ' she said, unable to take her eyes away from him.

He glanced back at her.

'When I sing, all I think of is you,' she said, softly, feeling suddenly very small.

Erik said nothing in response, he continued to row along the water sending gentle ripples back along the edge of the boat.

'I think, sometimes, you come through in me,' she said, looking around her. The passageway for the water was narrow and enclosed. 'Do you live down here?'

He nodded, no words, no sound. A simple nod. Still, it was so good to see him.

'It's cold,' she said.

'There's a blanket in the back,'

'I mean...' she said, taking a gulp of air. 'It's cold to live down here,'

'You get used to it,'

She stared at him. 'Do you like living down here?'

'Yes,'

'Do you still get lonely?'

'Sometimes,' he said. 'But I have you,'

Her heart jumped. 'Thank you for teaching me to sing, Erik... I don't think I've actually said that before,'

A quick glance over his shoulder was all that happened in response and then all she could here was the gentle swoosh of the oar in the water. They reached an archway and Erik ducked his head as he pushed the boat carefully through it. To Christine's surprise, when they were through the arch, the whole area opened up into a huge lake.

He rowed to the edge and the metal gates closed behind them.

Christine watched as Erik stepped carefully from the boat and tied it to a wooden stump. When he turned to look at her the intensity in his eyes made her tremble. Slowly, almost timidly, he walked to the boat, and helped her onto the ground.

The room was cold but open.

To her right was a wall lining the lake, it probably came to her hip, in front of her was a kitchen type area, there was a stove of sorts, a table, some chairs. To the right of the kitchen there were two doors, and to the right of those there was a piano with books resting on top of it.

In fact, there seemed to be books everywhere.

There were no real decorations, no warmth in her new surroundings. Everything that lay before her was simple and earthly but this simply added to the appeal. There was something attractive about this mystery, the mystery that was Erik Lambourne.

She allowed her eyes to find him again, he was looking at her and when their eyes met she had to blink away. She wondered where his power over her had come from.

'Would you like a drink?' he asked.

She looked at him and she had caught the shyness in his voice, whether he had tried to hide it or not, it was there. She shook her head. Erik turned his back on her and walked to the kitchen, sitting at one of the seats by the table.

'Why now?' she asked, breaking the silence.

'What?'

'Why have you...' she thought for a moment. 'Why did you bring me here now?'

'I trust you,' he said. The statement almost knocked her sideways.

She walked to the table and took a seat opposite him, the barrier of the table stood between them, protecting whom she did not know. Now she looked at him, she really looked at him.

Let her eyes drift over him, over his broad shoulders, over his long arms resting on the table, they followed the line of his neck, the smooth curve of his defined jaw, the white of his mask. Her eyes fixed there, stopped moving, while she took at the oddity.

She wanted to ask but somehow, felt that now was not the time.

'Will you play the piano for me?' she asked.

He blinked. 'If you wish,'

'Or... sing...'

'What would you like me to sing?' he asked. She had not seen him smile yet, she wondered what that would look like on his lips.

'Anything...' she said. 'Something... something that you wrote, perhaps?'

He stood from his seat and walked to the edge of the lake, he looked over it while Christine looked over him. When he had been silent for too long she stood and followed him to the water.

'Please...' she said softly, reaching out and touching his shoulder. He flinched slightly at her touch but when he turned to face her their bodies were barely more than an inch apart.

Without warning he reached out and pulled her closer, holding her by the waist with one hand and using his other to grasp her hand. Slowly he swayed her, moving his lips close to her ear.

'Night time sharpens... heightens each sensation,'

She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice, allowed her body to move with his. He sang, gently, into her ear, a song only she could hear. She slipped her free arm around his waist, held him tighter than she should have, but felt completely comfortable with it. His smell was fresh, despite his surroundings, and she breathed him in as she stepped in, closing the gap between them until her head was resting in his shoulder.

He didn't break his movement, he squeezed her a little tighter, held her a little closer. She felt his chest moving as he was breathing, she wondered if he could feel the firm beating of her heart.

As he continued to speak her dizziness returned, a feeling not completely unwelcome as she felt weak in his arms. He paused his dancing as she pushed gently against him, to move him away.

His eyes took her face in, he had stopped singing.

The last thing she saw before she fainted was the sadness in his eyes.


	29. Runaway

**A/N: I said at the beginning that this would be more ALW based and you will  
see in the next chapters that it is. I use this version because I feel it is  
more user friendly for the purposes of thisstory. Also, quotes from the  
musical are much more easy to remember and more people have seen the play  
than read the book (and those who have read the book have definitely seen  
the play)**

I like to think I draw some of Erik's character from Leroux, though I can  
never bring myself to make him quite so crazy. I also believe in a further  
developed Persian (hence using the name that Kay created)

Just an explanation of what has been and what is to come.

****

**Chapter 28- Runaway  
**  
Antoinette turned around the corner, her stride long and purposeful. When she arrived at Christine's room to find the new patron of the opera, Raoul De Chagny, banging on her door her temper almost flared.

'What on _earth_ are you doing, Monsieur?' she asked, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice.

'She was in there,' he said, not answering her question.

'Now she, evidently, is not,'

'I heard her,'

'What are you doing down here?' she demanded. Patron or no patron he would have to answer for his actions.

There were other cast and crew members watching them now, curiosity almost too much to control. She ignored them and kept her eyes focused on Raoul.

'Taking Christine out for dinner,' he said.

'Obviously you are not, Monsieur,'

He jerked his head around to face her, his eyes blazed with anger. 'She is an old friend, Madame Giry, I wish to take her out to dinner,'

'I think that her not answering her door is probably hint enough, don't you?' she asked.

'No,' he snapped. 'We have already spoken,'

'When?'

'Five minutes ago,'

'Did she tell you she wished to go for dinner with you?' Antoinette asked, lifting her eyebrows at him.

Suddenly, the anger vanished from his eyes and he looked deflated. 'No,' he said quietly.

Just as suddenly Antoinette felt a wave of sympathy for the young man.

He leaned against the wall. 'There was someone in there with her,' he said.

'Did you see someone?' she asked.

'No,' He shook his head. 'I heard him,'

'What did he sound like?'

Raoul appeared to think for a moment. 'He was French, deep voice, sounded older...'

'He is her teacher,' she said, feeling her heart hammer into her chest. What was Erik doing letting anyone hear him and why wasn't Christine answering her door?

'Teacher?' he asked, his voice soft now, almost relieved. 'Not a... er...'

'No,' she said quickly, although she was now no longer sure herself. 'He has been teaching her to sing,'

Raoul smiled. 'He has been doing a very good job,' he said. 'But why won't she come to the door?'

'Perhaps she is sleeping,' she said.

'Could you try for me?' he asked, his eyes were soft. 'Only... I haven't seen her in so long Madame, too long,'

Antoinette thought for a moment about the consequences of what she was about to do. Her concern eventually got the better of her and she took out the spare key to Christine's room.

Raoul smiled at her, encouragingly. It was obvious the boy was in love with her and under most other circumstances Antoinette would have been very happy for Christine. In this particular instance, she knew that nothing good could possibly come of this. She slid the key into the door and turned it, on hearing the click she pushed in gently.

'Christine,' she said softly.

When no answer came she opened the door completely.

No Christine.

She turned her head to look at Raoul who's face was crinkled in confusion. 'Where is she?' he asked.

'I don't know,' she lied.

'I swear I heard her... I heard her and a man,'

She shrugged. 'These corridors often play tricks on us, Monsieur,'

'Is this referring to the ghost you're all so fond of?' he asked.

'I wouldn't go as far as to say fond,' Joseph Buquet interjected. 'More scared,'

'I don't believe in ghosts, Monsieur,' Raoul said simply and then turned his gaze onto Antoinette. 'Do you?'

'I'm not sure what I believe in this place,' she said simply. 'It has a certain... way of changed your outlook,'

'My outlook is positive, Madame,' he said. 'But not when my friend disappears,'

'I'm sure she has not disappeared,'

'Then where is she,'

'I really don't know,' she said. 'You will have to ask her when she returns,'

A look of sadness washed his face. 'But when will that be?'

'Who knows but Christine?' Antoinette said. 'I'm sure she will be back when she is ready,'

He nodded and then turned his attention back to Joseph Buquet, who was now standing at Antoinette's side.

'Do you believe in this ghost?' he asked, his voice was somehow both demanding kind.

Joseph smiled, showing his well known gaps. 'Of course,' he said.

'Why?'

'I've seen him,'

Raoul glanced at Antoinette with a frown and then let his eyes fall back to  
Joseph. 'Where?'

'Around,'

'What does he look like?'

Again, a smile, Oh, how Joseph Buquet loved to tell his stories. 'Well, he is tall... wide, like a shadow,'

Raoul said nothing.

'He has sunken eyes and a white mask over one side of his face,'

Sunken eyes indeed, Antoinette thought. Erik had nothing of the sort. In fact, Erik's eyes were magnificent if a little frightening, sunken they were most certainly not. His eyes were something a person learned to treasure if they knew him, something so beautiful in someone so disturbed was a sight to behold.

'I think the Vicomte has heard quite enough,' she said, forcing a smile.

Raoul smiled at her. 'No, tell me more,'

Joseph grinned like the cat with the cream and continued, 'He haunts this opera house...'

'Why?' Raoul asked.

'I... it is rumoured that he was the architect,'

Antoinette stifled a laugh with the back of her hand but Raoul noticed. 'What is funny?' he asked, with genuine curiosity. 'Do you know something?'

'This opera house is over one hundred years old,' she said, trying to keep the smile from her face. Good Lord, how old did they think Erik was? 'The ghost has been here for, perhaps twenty years at the most, meaning, logically that he died twenty or so years ago,'

Raoul nodded, following her explanation and she could see what she thought was intelligence in his eyes.

'Therefore, if the theatre is, lets say, exactly one hundred years old,' she continued. 'Then twenty years ago the theatre would have been eighty years old,'

Raoul nodded again, 'Right,' he said. 'So if he was architect to the theatre then he would have to have been at least twenty or so when the project started,'

Antoinette nodded, 'Indeed, when it started,' she said. 'The theatre took nearly five years to build,'

'Making him twenty five, at least, one hundred years ago,'

'Meaning he would have been at least one hundred and five when he died,' she finished, glad that Raoul was obviously a bright young man. 'Illogical, is it not?'

'Most,' he turned his head back to Buquet. 'Too many rumours around here,'

'There is a ghost,'

Raoul shrugged. 'There is certainly something going on but whether or not it is a ghost haunting this building has yet to be seen,'

'There _is_ a ghost,'

Antoinette turned to the origin of the voice. Carlotta was standing in her dressing room doorway, pale and looking tired. Piangi stood next to her, like a pet.

'Have you seen him?' he asked.

'No,' she said, shaking her head. 'But he tried to kill me,'

'I heard about it,' he said. 'I'm sure it was an accident,'

She laughed bitterly. 'No accident, I assure you,' she said.

'I'm sorry you feel that way,' Raoul said, calmly. Antoinette was growing to like the young Vicomte and that made her even more concerned about his feelings for Christine.

'This ghost,' he said, looking around him at the cast and crew still hanging around. 'Has anyone seen him?'

Only Joseph Buquet held up his hand like school boy. Antoinette knew that he had seen Erik, more than once, because Erik was not the only person that lurked in the dark. There was something distinctly eerie about Joseph Buquet but though he had seen Erik, he did not know him. To speak of him this way, of his sunken eyes, of the way he looked, would only be to Joseph's detriment.

'Stop fuelling the rumours, Monsieur,' Raoul said to him.

'They are not r...'

Raoul's looked stopped him. 'They are rumours until they are substantiated,'

Joseph nodded, suddenly looking defeated. Someone had finally had the nerve to stand up to him and question the origins of his story. Part of Antoinette had some sympathy for the man, he wanted to be listened to, he wanted to be acknowledged. Is that not what all people wanted? Another part of her said that anyone who would push the hand of a ghost known to kill people might just deserve everything they got.

She wondered when she had become so callous.

Raoul smiled at her as he turned. 'Walk with me,' he said simply, though it was not a demand.

Her curiosity about the new patron overcame her and she followed him out of the dark corridor and into the back stage area.

'What do you know about this ghost?' he asked, without looking at her.

'Not much,' she lied.

'But you believe that there is a ghost?'

She thought about her answer. 'A ghost?' she asked. 'Maybe, maybe not, but something haunts the Opera Populaire,'

He stopped walking and turned to face her, looking at her with thoughtful eyes. The moment between them was surrounded by an eerie quiet. It was unusual for there to be no sounds in the theatre but not even the clunking of stage props being moved disturbed them.

'Have you seen what haunts the opera house?' he asked, breaking the silence with what seemed like a snap to her.

Antoinette was not unaccustomed to lying but that did not mean that she liked to do it and she only ever did to it where the situation really warranted it. She thought for a moment and then decided that this was definitely one of those occasions.

'No,' she said.

He nodded. 'Yet you believe there is something amiss,'

This time it was Antoinette's turn to nod. She did not want to say anymore, wanted the subject to end, but she knew what was coming.

'Tell me what you know,'

And so, choosing her words very carefully, she filled the new patron of the Opera Populaire in on the infamous Phantom.

Erik placed Christine carefully into the crib he kept and sat on the seat next to it. Looking down at her soft features he wondered if he had made a terrible mistake bringing her to his home, letting her see him.

The jolt of Raoul De Chagny's appearance had made him act irrationally, showing her his hiding place and bringing her down to his home. He had planned to reveal himself that night anyway but in a far less... _dramatic_ way. He was going to arrange a meeting in somewhere quiet and private.

Apparently, her room was as quiet and private as he was likely get.

She sighed in her sleep and it struck his heart, direct and centre. He was not sure if he had ever seen anything quite so wonderful in all of his life. Christine' dark curls had spread across her shoulders, one stray strand kissed at her cheek. His fingers wanted to brush it away from her face so that he could see her full beauty, but he resisted

Instead he simply sat there, barely a few feet away, and watched her sleep. The slow rise and fall of her chest had his attention, the way her eyes flicked slightly, her hand grabbed the sheets he had placed around her.

When she began to shiver he stood quietly and placed the blanket over her body, covering her and, hopefully, keeping her warm. Something about Christine was enchanting, something about her was simply charming. Her beauty was an undeniable factor but there was more, so much more to her.

He sat back in his seat and kept his silent vigil.

He had not been surprised when she had lost consciousness, she had worked very hard and was probably exhausted. He had only added to her somewhat stressful evening.

Raoul De Chagny was hardly blameless. The boy had startled her and surprised her and then, with a nerve even Erik could not surpass, insisted she go to dinner with him. The utter rudeness of the situation stunned him but his reaction had been that of possession... it was the way he felt about Christine.

Though she would never be his as a material object could be, he felt that in many ways she was his on an intellectual level. Of course, she did not match his intelligence , very few people did, but she was certainly emotionally his. Over the months their lessons had developed to gentle, yet strange, conversations and then to something he felt oddly comfortable with- a friendship.

Of course, it was clear to him now that he needed more from her than friendship and she appeared, at least on an obvious level, to reciprocate. Christine had done anything and everything with in her limited power to earn his trust and for in that he must have at least some confidence.

He did trust her now, probably not quite the way he should, but he felt that that step was not too far away.

She sighed again and he felt that same stab to his heart, the one that hurt him but also made him feel alive. He would always feel this way about her, he knew that. The very sight of her made him ache because he knew that he would never look like Raoul De Chagny. He imagined that his face would ultimately end his relationship with Christine.

However, he aimed to keep his face covered for the time he was with her until he could at least judge her feelings properly.

He was beginning to feel like somewhat of a fool, sitting there watching her sleep. Something inside him tugged him away, told him that he should let her be, that she was too young... his mind told him to let her go home and to leave her alone.

His heart said otherwise.

**

* * *

**

Erik was under no allusions about himself, he knew what he was and where he had come from. He knew that he wore the devil's face and had the devil's soul yet... he could feel love. He had denied this to Nadir but even Nadir was not dull enough to believe the ravings of a lonely man.

Ugly and cold, that's all he was. Money drove him in the oddest way, no because he needed it but because it gave him power. Power was something he had come to crave after spending so many years out of control of his own life. The power he had in the Opera Populaire sometimes waned but never did it disappear.

Staring at Christine again he let himself wonder what she might be dreaming, he saw her eyes move under their lids, and wondered if he was somewhere in her thoughts. To his shame, he hoped that he was. She slept so soundly, something Erik, even as a child, could never do. Her breathing was the gentle wave lapping at the sand, so even and so soothing.

He stood and walked into the kitchen where he took a sip of brandy. He did not drink so much anymore though there were many years when he drank too much. It was not that he liked the taste particularly, it was that he liked the effects of the liquid. Still, he had learnt recently that he should be in control at all times and so the occasional sip of brandy was all he allowed himself.

He took a last glance at Christine before he headed into his bedroom and it then crossed his mind that he had no idea what he was going to do in the morning.


	30. Reach for Me

**Chapter 29- Reach for Me**

She was awake but somehow could not quite open her eyes. Her head was clogged up and she felt like she was fighting her way back into consciousness. When her eyes finally opened it took a moment for them to adjust to what she was seeing. Her mind was blurred and she couldn't remember how she got here. The room was quite dark, though she assumed it was day time. She looked down at herself and noticed that she was covered in a blanket but still in her dress from the night before.

It started to come back to her slowly, at first, and then, once the gates of her mind opened, it allowed the night before to come flooding in. She was startled by the sound of music, loud, from the other side of the room.

She remembered the night before, there was a lot of mist and water. _A lake..._

Easing herself up she looked out at the lake in front of her, no ripples, it was perfectly still... it felt almost tranquil. The music continued and she remembered Erik... tall, dark, broad and wearing a white mask...

Suddenly, all of the curiosity she knew she should have felt the night before was there with a vengeance. She wanted to know about him... she had felt her body sway with hers, his breath on her ear but she had not really seen him.

Using the sides of the cot she pulled herself into a standing position. She felt unsteady on her legs and had to stand still for a moment to gather her senses. The music continued to play, harsh and cold music, she followed the sound. As she got closer she saw his back. He was wearing only trousers and a white shirt, his hair was damp, and he was oblivious to her presence, so swept up in the music.

Her heart was beating wildly as she inched closer to him, feeling strangely guilty as she crept up behind him. When she was there she reached around quickly, fingers trembling, and pulled at the mask. It was ceramic and tacked down but pulled away without too much effort.

As she held the mask in her hand he spun around, hand flying up to cover the side of his face. It was too late though, she saw it. The scarring and the dips in his flesh. She moved backwards from his, shamefully unable to look at the horror any longer she looked down at the white mask in her hands.

It was cold.

Seconds past before Erik burst into rage. He flew at her, causing her to step backwards and trip over some books lying on the floor. She landed hard on her back and winced in pain as he glared down at her.

'Look at me!' he demanded. She couldn't, she stared down at her hands, at the floor, at anything but his face. It hurt her to see it.

He grabbed her hair and tugged it back, forcing her eyes up to his face, it hurt but somehow she knew that it was not deliberate. 'I said... _look_ at _me_!'

She did, forcing her eyes to stay focused on his face. The pits in his skin were too much to bare, she blinked and felt tears well in her eyes.

'This is what you wanted!' he roared. 'This is what you wanted to see, this is what you caused... you _will_ look at me,'

His hand released her hair but she still did as she was told.

He laughed and the sound hurt her ears, it was harsh and bitter. 'Stranger than you dreamt it?'

He did not give her the chance to answer, the rage she saw in his eyes was almost tangible as he continued with barely a pause.

'Look... _look_ at me, you don't even dare to look without being forced to!' he shouted. 'You tear my pride away and leave me with this and you won't even look properly. Is it not what you want, Christine, this loathsome gargoyle who lives alone in his pit of hell?'

She blinked a tear from her eyes and dragged her focus away from his burning eyes.

'You will never quite understand this, my dear, this pain,' His eyes were on her, she could feel them scorching her skin. 'This is my hell, this is how I live and who I am and the reason I burn here but you must see that I long for heaven, Christine, I have always longed for heaven,'

Christine sat in silence, breathing sharp, heart beating hard. She had no idea if he expected answers from her, the way he looked at her was hard but questioning. She could not say anything, could hardly find the words.

'Secretly...' he whispered. 'I secretly hoped that you might provide my heaven... perhaps foolishly I thought that fear could turn to love,'

Her hand came up to her face and swiped a tear from under her eye.

'I thought that maybe you could learn to see, to find the man behind this monster,' he touched his face and then, as if instinctively covered it with his hand again. 'I thought you might be the one to see beyond this repulsive carcass who seems a beast but is secretly dreaming of beauty...'

And then, without more warning than the softness in his voice, he dropped to his knees opposite her. Christine thought that she saw tears sparkling in his sad eyes, he glanced at her, hand still covering his face, and reached his other hand out towards her.

'Oh, _Christine_...' he murmured, the sound was pained, and dug deep into her heart.

She reached across and placed the ceramic mask back into his hand. His eyes left her face but a moment as he concentrated on fixing the white back to his own face. They sat there for what felt like hours, staring at each other.

In her mind she compared the contrasts of Erik in her mind. The right side of his face was smooth and soft, angled like any handsome man's features were but under the mask, on the left of his face, the skin was far from smooth. It was ugly and red, pinched and looked sore. She had been shocked, horrified even, but now she knew that she had hurt him sadness took over her body.

His eyes, with their temporary flecks of gold, were on her face and she wondered what he was thinking. She wished she could read his thoughts, wished she knew how to make this better. The truth was that she simply had no idea how she could ever rectify this. Had she destroyed his trust in her, the trust she had worked so hard to build.

Damn her curiosity, she could have lived a lifetime without seeing his face.

'We must go,' he said suddenly, the softness and sadness of his voice now gone as he stood and held his hand out to her.

She was reluctant and he saw it in her eyes.

'We must...' he said, the power was back, the authority, the quiet confidence. 'Those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you...'

As he grasped her hand in his and pulled her towards the boat she tugged back, he turned to face her, questioning eyes. 'I'm sorry...' she whispered.

* * *

Antoinette woke up particularly early and glanced to her left. There was no sign of Scott or that Scott had even spent any part of last night in their bed. She squinted her eyes, the sun was pouring in through the gap in the curtains, and glanced at the mantel clock. It was before six in the morning.

She lay there for a moment, tried to force herself back to sleep, but decided that the whole idea was futile. After taking several deep breaths she eased herself from the bed and limped to the closet. When she had chosen her clothes for the day she lay them out on the bed and made her way to the bathroom, without her cane.

Diane walked along the corridor and, on seeing Antoinette, she smiled, 'Morning Madame,' she said warmly.

'Good morning,'

'Would you like me to draw you a bath?' Diane asked. Antoinette thought for a moment.

'No,' she said. 'I shall just wash this morning, I think today will be a long day... I will save my bath until later,'

In the kitchen she sat at the wooden chair and looked around her. The room was dark, Cook was not due to arrive for another half an hour, and suddenly she missed the smell of baking. When she first married Scott, all those years ago, she would bake in this kitchen for hours, letting the smells of bread and cakes filter through the whole house. The scent would greet him at the door and he would put his doctor's bag down and walk to her, wrapping his arms around her, he would whisper how wonderful she was.

It was not long before he hired the cook. At first she had resisted, of course, she was the only cook in this house, the only one who would make food for her family. She had given in because she knew that he was right. All of the bending and stretching and standing in the kitchen was doing her hip absolutely no good. She felt a twinge in her leg as if to mark the point.

'What are you doing up so early?' she turned towards Scott's voice. He was wearing a shirt and trousers, standing the doorway, the early summer sun shifting shadows around the room.

'I could ask you the same thing,'

He stared at her. 'I've been getting up this early for a while,'

She nodded, feeling her heart sink. When had she stopped noticing him?

'Is your hip hurting?' he asked.

'It always hurts,'

He sighed. 'I mean... in the night, more than usual...'

She shook her head and looked out of the window, letting her eyes drift across the garden. When she turned again he had stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, of course, he still kept a safe distance between them, he didn't sit down with her.

'Then why?'

She glanced up at him.

'I just couldn't sleep,'

'Any particular reason?' he asked and even deafness would not have stopped her hearing the concern in his voice.

She said nothing in response, instead she chose to look away again, taking in the view from the window, the warm sun on her face.

'I don't know what it is,' he said quietly. She did not turn to him. 'But you look radiant this morning,'

'Thank you,' she barely managed to say, the words almost stuck in her throat.

'I'm sorry,' he said, finally pulling the chair out next to her. When he sat down she turned to look at him.

'What for?' she asked.

'For the way we are,' he replied. 'I know that it's my fault,'

'Not entirely,' she said softly, her chest ached.

He smiled, she could see that it was forced but it was a smile none the less.

'Laurent says he wishes to leave,' he said and she felt the familiar punch in her chest at the sound of her brother's name. 'I know you want him gone but I'm not sure that he is well enough,'

Her eyes locked onto Scott's and they sat there, temporarily surrounded by the silence created in their marriage. His face was starting to look weathered and she wondered briefly when it was that they had started to grow old.

'Are you asking my permission to allow him to stay, Scott?' she asked, eyes not leaving his.

He reached for her hand and, though she did not offer it, she did not resist his touch either. He cradled her cold fingers in his warm palm, the feeling of his comfort seeped into her skin.

'No,' he said, stroking her hand with his thumb. It was the most contact they had had in months. 'I'm am asking you to ask him to stay,'

She blinked back her surprise and tried to pull her hand away, but he held on, squeezing it in his fingers. 'I can't do that,'

'Can't?' he asked. 'Or won't?'

'Can't...'

'Why?' his eyes pleaded with her.

'He is not part of me anymore,' she said, her heart sinking further and further.

'He looks better,' Scott said, his hand tight around hers. 'But internally he is still not well, I don't know what to do. I had to ask you, Antoinette, I had to try, you understand? I can't watch him leave here knowing he is not well, that he might die,'

'I understand,'

'Then please help me,'


	31. Outside

**A/N: I've switched vocals etc around in parts of this (not all of it)...simply because I never knew the difference between Andre and Firmin anyway!**

**Also, I'm sorry I didn't update last weekend as intended- I lost my internet connection sooner than I expected**

**Chapter 30- Outside**

Erik glanced back over his shoulder and checked that Christine still looked as though she was fine. Dark eyes peered back at him from under waves of hair but neither of them said anything. Her hand felt so warm in his, like he was holding a blanket, holding a comfort. Despite the cold in his home,  
in the opera cellars, somehow Christine Daae retained her _unattainable_ warmth.

The burning in his chest has eased somewhat in the journey back up to the surface, as he liked to call it, but it had not disappeared completely. His anger had, however, dissipated quickly. The horror on her face would, however, always remain engrained in his suffering memories.

He felt her squeeze his hand and he resisted the urge to squeeze back and give her some comfort. Erik was in no mood to offer her any comfort at all though the feeling of her close by offered _him_ some. It worried him that he was no longer angry with her, that her apology was somehow enough to sway his fury, but on the other hand, he welcomed the break from his temper.

What had replaced it, though, was almost worse. He knew what it was, had felt it many times in his past, but had not had the feeling for many years. It was back with a certain ferocity now, digging at his soul, beating him down. The memories of past rejections pummelled his mind as he pulled Christine from one corridor to the next. Her existence was what he needed yet all that he feared and resented.

She had ripped the mask from his face, she had hurt him and in a way, betrayed him. He would probably have shown her, eventually, had she asked. Christine squeezed his hand again and he recognised it as a cry for his attention. He did not give it, he continued to navigate the dark passageways he had created under the opera house until they were at the corridor directly beneath the stage.

He turned to face her now, feeling his heart strain, as he looked into her eyes.

'I'm sorry,' she said, repeating her earlier statement as if he had not heard it the first time. When he did not respond she said it again; 'I'm sorry,'

There was more desperation than meaning in the second repetition.

'Erik...' she said and his trained ears heard the crack in her voice. 'Please,'

'What?' he snapped.

'Please forgive me...' she whispered, looking into his eyes.

'Why should I forgive you?' he asked, his anger slowly returning, replacing  
the feelings of hurt.

'Because I didn't mean to hurt you,' she said. The words said by her were like a punch to his stomach. She had recognised his hurt and he was not sure anyone else had done this in the past.

'Never mind,' he said.

'Oh, Erik...' she said softly. 'Please don't be like that. I am truly sorry...'

'Why, Christine?' he said, turning away from her, no longer able to see the softness of her face.

'Why what?' she asked, sounding confused.

'Why are you sorry?' he said. 'It achieved what you had hoped, didn't it?'

'I'm sorry because you are hurt,'

'Then you are not sorry you did it,' he said simply, he wasn't asking her a question. 'You are sorry about the consequences,'

'No...' she said. 'That's not right,'

'If I had not reacted the way I did, would you still be sorry?'

She fell silent.

'As I suspected,'

'I never wanted to upset you...' she said. 'I don't ever want to hurt you,'

'We need to go,'

'No,'

He turned to look at her. 'What?'

'I want to talk to you,'

'All you do is talk,' he snapped.

'Yet you care for me,' she said softly, reaching out and touching his arm. He moved it away, afraid the touch might somehow change things, but he felt it. Light as a feather, a delicate touch that filtered through the material of his shirt. He felt it, all in that second, touch his skin and warm it.

'Of course,' he said, how could he deny it? 'But talking has been our only contact,'

'I know...'

'I've had enough of talking to you,' he said coldly.

'You don't mean that,' she said and he saw her eyes water. 'I've hurt you but you don't mean that,'

_He didn't._

'Forgive me, Erik,' she said softly. 'I'll miss you...'

He blinked but tried not to show too much of himself, too much emotion, emotion he had thought was long gone. Christine's eyes were so earnest, so deep, that they looked like a person might get lost in them.

'You won't miss me,' he said.

He saw her throat move as she swallowed hard. 'Of course I will...'

'Christine,' he said. 'You won't miss me because I'm not going anywhere,'

She did not move but the tears that had welled in her eyes spilled out onto her cheeks.

'I told you before that I care for you,' he said, feeling his heart pound. His mind tried to stop his mouth but it was no use. 'I care you more than anyone else. I would give anything to you, I would die for you...'

She remained silent.

'Kill for you,'

With that he turned away, taking her hand in his once again and leading her up the stairs towards his hidden entrance to back stage. He pushed the door up slightly, glancing out on the stage. He saw there some of the chorus girls sitting cross legged, staring up at an animated Joseph Buquet

Joseph glared around him, for dramatic effect, no doubt. 'His skin... is like yellow parchment,'

Erik sighed as he watched through the gap. Joseph Buquet swayed, drunk, and held his hand to his own face.

'And there is a black hole there for the nose that never grew!' Buquet swung a piece of material around and around above his head and then let the loop fall down around his throat, where he placed his hand between it and his neck. 'You must always be on your guard, little girls,'

He swayed again and Erik shook his head watching as Buquet regained some balance and lifted the make shift lasso from over his head.

'Always,' he mumbled. Erik lifted the door quietly and helped Christine out, glancing behind him as Buquet finished his little story. 'Or he will get you... with his magical lasso!'

Erik dropped the trap door hard, causing the thud it made to shake the stage. All of the chorus girls looked around them and then ran away screaming as he pulled Christine into the shadows. It was a moment before he realised that Christine's body was pressed against his, that he could feel her breath on his neck, feel her chest move as she took in air.

He stepped away from her slightly and caught a glimpse of Madame Giry staring at Joseph Buquet. Her face was pale but her eyes were full of anger.

'Those who speak of what they know often find, a little too late, that prudent silence is wise,'

Buquet stared back, his drunken haze washing him of all common sense, and he laughed. He felt Christine at his side, she too, watching Antoinette Giry.

'Joseph Buquet hold your tongue,' she growled. 'You have no idea what he is capable of, he could burn you with the heat from his eyes,'

The drunken man fell quiet for a moment before frowning at her. 'Who are you to tell me what to do?' he asked.

'I am merely warning you,' she said.

'Of what?' he asked, but did not give her chance to answer. 'You are threatening me, Madame,'

'I am trying to help you,' she said, shaking her head.

'I don't need your help,' he snapped and moved past her, pushing her as he did. Antoinette lost her balance from the force of his push and she fell to the floor, landing on her side with a pained yelp.

Erik jumped forward, pure and unhinged fury biting at his nerves, but he felt Christine's hand on his arm, tugging him back.

'You know Madame Giry?' she said, half statement, half question.

'Yes,' he replied, his veins bubbling with anger.

'She would not want you to hurt him,'

Erik glanced out at her fighting to get to her feet, from anger came hurt at the sight of her struggling. 'No,' he said simply and turned away.

Christine's eyes were on him. 'I should have known,'

He said nothing, he knew what she was referring too.

'She rarely entered into any conversations about the Opera Ghost and then... even when she did, it almost sounded as though she were defending you...'

He nodded.

'Are you friends?' she asked.

'We were,' he said, taking Christine's hand again and leading her along the corridors quietly.

'Not anymore?' she whispered.

He shook his head, leading her towards her room.

'Why?'

'No more talking,' he said simply and with that they continued on in silence.

* * *

Gilles Andre walked through the corridors and into the office he now shared with his long time friend, Richard Firmin. When he closed the door behind him his friend, who was sitting at his desk by the window, glanced up briefly, an expression of loss written across his face.

Gilles approached wearily, knowing how appalling his friend's moods could be. 'Something wrong?'

'Mystery on Gala Night,' he said simply, without looking up again.

'Pardon?'

'This is very poetic,'

Gilles frowned. 'What is?'

'Mystery of Soprano's flight,' Richard glanced up and threw the pile of newspapers towards the end of the desk, where Gilles was standing.

He looked down and read the first one, then lifted it and looked at the second, then the third.

'We've made all of the headlines,' Gilles said, looking at his business partner.

Richard raised an eyebrow. 'Have you read it all?' he said, 'We suspect foul play?'

Gilles nodded though he barely saw a real disaster.

'Bad news, isn't it, on the Soprano front?' Richard said, leaning back in his seat whilst rubbing his temples. 'First Carlotta and now Christine?'

'Yes,' Gilles said, but he was smiling, could barely help himself. 'But still, the seats are being sold, are they not?'

Richard reluctantly nodded his head.

'Ahh,' Gilles said, smile turning to a grin. 'Gossips worth it's weight in gold...'

'Damnable,' Firmin said, shaking his head.

'It's publicity, free publicity,' Gilles said, squeezing his friend's shoulder. 'Our take is vast, the publicity is doing us wonders, we don't have enough seats!'

'Gilles,' Firmin said, still shaking his head from side to side. 'This might have escaped your attention but we don't actually have a cast,'

'Of course we do!' he said.

'Just no leading lady?' Richard said, staring at him sceptically.

'Minor point, my friend,'

Richard laughed bitterly. 'Why do we always go along with your ideas?'

'This is a joint venture,'

'Yes...' Richard said, dragging the word out.

Gilles chose to ignore his cynicism and began rifling through the papers on his desk. 'Charity, bill,' he said, throwing them to one side. 'Hmm...'

'What?'

'A letter for you...' he said, handing the envelope with it's elegant hand writing to Richard. His partner took it from his and stared at the seal on the back.

'Strange,'

Gilles glanced up. 'I have one too,'

Gilles ran his letter opener along the seal and the paper parted at the join with a small pop. He slid the letter out, noting the quality of the paper.

'Perhaps someone who wishes to make a donation?' He said, as he opened the paper up to read. _'Dear Andre, What a charming Gala, Christine enjoyed a great success_...'

Richard finally smiled at hearing the praise. 'A fan,'

But as Gilles continued a block of ice forming in the pit of his stomach. _'I must, however, that Carlotta leaving has left me a little less than fazed, I'm hardly bereft about it. The chorus was enchanting but, somehow, the dancers lost there way. That was a lamentable mess_,'

Richard frowned and tugged at the seal on his envelope. 'Dear _Firmin, just a brief reminder..._'

'Reminder?' Gilles interrupted, confused.

His friend shrugged his shoulders. '..._my salary has not been paid_...'

'Salary?'

'That's what it says, let me finish,' Richard said. _'You should send it care of the ghost, by return of post_,'

Gilles leapt forward and looked over Richards shoulder, reading the next line, '_Please turn over_...'

Richard stared at the page in his hand before slowly turning to the other side, seeing the same elegant handwriting adorning the back. _'I don't think anyone likes a debtor so it's in your best interests to ensure that my orders are obeyed_,'

They stared at each other for a moment, unsure of what to say. The note dropped from Richard's hand, open, onto the desk. Gilles glanced down at it and then let his eyes move back to his business partner. Slowly, he felt his confusion turning to rage. Someone was attempting to extort money from them!

It was Richard who spoke first, 'Who on earth would have the gall to send this??' he looked down at the letter again, 'Someone with a puerile brain, no doubt,'

'They're both signed with the initials, O.G,' Gilles said, staring at the strange signature.

'Who the hell is he?' Richard fumed, fists clenched.

The realisation came to them both at the same time, they looked at each other, and said, almost together, 'Opera Ghost,'

'This isn't funny,' Richard said. 'Not amusing in the slightest,'

'This thing is abusing our position,'

'Furthermore he wants money,' His friend shook his head.

'Hmm,' Gilles said, looking once again at the letter. 'It's a funny sort of spectre, don't you think?'

Richard glanced up at him. 'What ghost expects a large retainer?'

'The man is clearly quite insane,' Gilles said.

They did not have time to mull this over for long as in that moment the door to their large office burst open and Raoul de Chagny charged in, face hot with rage.

'Where is she?' he demanded.

'Carlotta?' Gilles asked, confused.

'Miss Daae,' he answered. 'Where is she?'

Richard shot Gilles a sideways glance. 'How the hell should we know?'

'She's not with you?' Raoul asked, looking from one man to the other. 'She's been missing all night and all morning, where is she then?'

'We're as in the dark as you are,' Gilles answered gently. No use annoying the money. He had heard the already rapidly spreading rumours about Raoul and the young Christine. The people who had seen him hammering on her door the evening before were quick to speculate on the status of their relationship and seeing Raoul's face now, Gilles was inclined to agree with their judgement.

'Don't argue with me,' he said firmly, but there was something strained in his voice. 'Isn't it you who wrote this letter?'

Richard's eyebrows lifted and Gilles reached out for the letter. 'What is it that we're supposed to have written, exactly?'

_'Do not worry about Miss Daae,_' Gilles read, paper in his hands. _'The angel of music has her under his wing but make no attempt to see her again_...'

Richard simply shook his head, disbelief etched on his tired face. Silence had fallen in the previously chaotic room. Raoul was staring at the managers whose eyes were firmly fixed to the letter.

Eventually, it was Raoul who broke the silence. 'If you didn't write it then... who did?'

The quiet in the room was short lived. Without knocking Carlotta entered, closely followed by Piangi. Gilles felt a pang of relief flush through him, he was glad to see the Diva, she had been locked in her room for what seemed an eternity, refusing to see anyone.

'Where is he?' she demanded, with no introductions.

'Welcome back,' Gilles said.

'Where is the patron?'

Raoul stepped forward. 'I'm right here, what is it now?'

'I have your letter,' she said waving the paper around in her hand. 'A letter which I rather resent,'

Gilles saw Richard frown again before he spoke. 'Did you send it, Vicomte?'

'No,' Raoul said, shaking his head.

'You didn't send this letter?' Carlotta said, moving towards Raoul.

'Of course not,' he said.

'Then you did not write, _Your days at the Opera Populaire are numbere_d...'

'Certainly not,' Raoul said.

Carlotta continued reading from the note, _'Christine Daae will be singing on your behalf tonight. Be prepared for a great misfortune... should you attempt to take her place_,'

Gilles shrugged his shoulders, what more could he do?

'Far too many notes for my taste,' Richard said, sitting down. 'And really, most of them are focused on Christine Daae,'

Gilles nodded, this much was true.

'All we've heard since we got his is Miss Daae's name,'

Antoinette Giry was so quiet that Gilles did not even notice her walking in through to open door. He wondered how long she had been standing there listening and he thought, for a moment, that there was something very off about this woman.

'Christine Daae has returned,' she said simply, in her usual cool voice. There was no elaboration, she simply stated a fact and left it at that.

'Where is she now?' Gilles asked, biting back a scathing comment about the young woman.

'In her room,' she said

'May I see her?' Raoul asked, almost timidly.

'She needs to rest, she refused to see anyone,'

Gilles shook his head as they all stared at each other, it was then that Antoinette Giry produced another letter and handed to Richard.

'_I have now sent you several notes of the most amiable nature_,' he read. _'Detailing how my theatre is to be run... you have not followed any of my instructions_,'

Gilles blinked, there was something terrifyingly sinister about these notes, something that unnerved him.

Richard continued. _'I will give you one last chance. Christine Daee has been returned to you, safe and well, she will continue on in the lead role in Hannibal but rehearsals for Il Muto will start early_,'

'Il Muto?' Gilles asked.

Madame Giry nodded, 'It is our next production and not due to start for another month,'

'Then why rehearse now?'

'Read the letter,' she said simply.

Richard coughed and then carried on reading the note aloud. _'The show is popular on its own and will sell tickets. It will open on Saturday nigh_t,'

'Isn't that a little _soon_?' Gilles said and wondered for a moment why he was considering following this lunatics instructions.

'No,' Antoinette said. 'Most of the cast already know the score it won't take long to bring everyone else up to scratch,'

'Is it worth taking Hannibal off for this?' Richard asked.

'I would say, for more than one reason, yes,' she said.

Gilles was pacified at the thought of tickets selling themselves, hard work was for the cast. If Madame Giry was sure they could have the show ready in time then he was happy with that.

Richard looked back down at the note, 'I _will be in touch, O.G_,' he shrugged.

'Are we actually going to do this?' Raoul asked,

Gilles glanced from Madame Giry to Richard and then he nodded. 'Yes,'

'Because this mad man says so?' the patron asked, staring around him.

Carlotta smiled. 'He has got some taste, this mad man, Il Muto is brilliant,' she said. 'I for one, shall look forward to it,'

'It's a very popular production,' Madame Giry said, her tone always sounded so measured and reasonable.

'If the tickets will sell...' Gilles said.

'And what about the tickets already sold for Hannibal?' Raoul demanded.

'We will offer to replace them for Il Muto or refund,' Richard said.

Raoul seemed to think for a moment. 'Fine,' he said. 'I will clear it with my brother but we had better get rehearsals going as soon as possible,'

Madame Giry nodded. 'I will get started,'

'I will tell the stage hands and costume designers to find out the old set and do what needs to be done to it,' Richard said.

'Not much,' Madame Giry said, looking thoughtful.

'Good,' Gilles said.

'Let rehearsals begin,'


	32. Changes

**Chapter 31- Changes**

Christine was lying on her bed, listening to the sound of quiet all around her. She had tried to keep her mind blank, tried not to see Erik's' face, tried not the think about what she had done. The problem was that it was all so vivid, his scarring, his hurt and her guilt.

When she had arrived back at her room the mirror was slightly ajar but she left it as it was in the hope that Erik might visit her. She was not sure that he would though, not after what she had done. Antoinette Giry had somehow known she was back and came shortly after she had settled into the bed.

Her concern had been obvious, she told Christine that she looked incredibly tired.

That was when she had said, 'You know don't you, Madame Giry?'

Her Godmother had looked at her and nodded. 'I know some of it,'

'I saw...' she had swallowed, remembered the taste of the bile. 'His face...'

Madame Giry had blinked but given nothing else away. 'And?'

'It was awful,'

She had nodded, stood. 'He is good at heart,'

'I know,' Christine had said and she thought that she did. He was good, deep down he was good. She wanted to believe it, he was so gentle with her the night before, so kind and sweet.

'Then be careful with him,' the older woman had said. With that, she left.

Christine wondered if Erik had told Antoinette Giry that she was back. She wondered about this, about why Erik would say that they were no longer friends and then tell her that he had been with Christine.

She rested her head on her pillow and focused her eyes on the mirror. When a gloved hand curled around the edge and pulled it open a few hours later she did not even blink.

Erik stepped in and sat at the end of the bed without saying a word.

'What's wrong?' she asked, after a long silence.

He looked at her. 'Nothing,'

'You're quiet,'

'You need to learn the words for the lead role in Il Muto, you know a lot of it?' he asked, but for a moment she had to wonder if it was actually a question at all. His shadow stayed at the end of the bed, moved nothing but it's head.

'Yes,' she said.

'That is the new production as of Saturday,' he said.

'Will Carlotta not be the lead?' Christine asked.

'She will probably think she is,' he said. 'Don't worry, I will see to it that she is not but say nothing for now,'

'Don't hurt her, Erik,' Christine said.

The silence dropped into the room like a lead weight. She waited for his response and when none came she swallowed hard.

'Please...' she said, feeling the strain in her own voice.

After another moments silence, 'I won't,'

She shuddered.

'Are you cold?' he asked, looking at her.

'I'm fine,' she said.

'You shivered,'

'Because your _words_ are cold sometimes,' she said. 'Not _me_,'

'I can't apologise for the way I am,' he said quietly.

'I will never ask you to,' she said.

'Is who I am good enough for you, Christine?' he asked softly. She was confused, she was afraid of him but not in the way some might have expected. She was afraid of what he might do to others but never afraid that he might hurt her.

Sometimes, she thought, he could be remarkably tender.

'Of course,' she answered his question.

'Are you sure?' he asked.

She frowned. 'Yes, I'm sure,'

'Because at some point it will come down to a choice,' he said.

'A choice of what?' she asked.

'Well,' he continued. 'Life is full of many choices but I have no doubt that there will be a choice about our relationship,'

She frowned but said nothing, she remained lying still, watching him doing nothing.

'What I mean is...' he sighed. 'You have seen where I live, you know what I have done. Christine, you are going to be very famous, very loved by many people,'

She nodded, not sure if what he was saying was right but liking the thought of it anyway.

'They will want to take you away from here,' he said. 'Possibly to Opera houses in Italy and America... then your choice will be your fame or me,'

She blinked away a tear, now she understood what he was saying.

'I'd like to think that it would give you pause for thought and that you would not make the decision too hastily,'

'Why are you saying this?' she asked, suddenly unable to hear anymore.

'Because I am trying to be honest with you,' he said. 'This is something that will happen to you, Christine, because you are wonderful,'

The blush attacked her face and she was glad that her room was dark.

'There will be suitors, other men, there will be other patrons and other managers in other opera houses,' Erik continued, staring ahead of him. 'There will be a lot of decisions for you to make and, in truth, you are so good that those decisions will not be too far in the future,'

'I care for you,' she said, feeling her heart sink. He was telling her that he would not go with her when she left, he was telling her that he would stay behind.

'Which will only make the decision that little bit more difficult,' he said. 'I care for you too, I have told you this before,'

'I know,'

'I don't want to see you leave,' he said. 'I think it best I make my position known now,'

She nodded. 'I understand,'

'I will not let you go without a fight,' he said. 'I will make it that simple. When I fight, I don't always do it cleanly. I will want you to stay, to be here with me, I will always battle for that,'

She remained silent.

'You can be famous and loyal,' he said. 'There should be no reason for you to leave and I will fight to make you stay,'

He stood, quickly but not sharply, it was like watching liquid move. The way he walked was quiet and smooth, almost a glide. He made his way to the mirror.

'What do I say to answer you?' Christine asked, not wanting to let him go without understanding.

He turned back to face her. 'You said you care for me,' he said. 'Should that not be answer enough?'

* * *

Antoinette had been surprised to see him.

Not shocked, but surprised.

He had been waiting for her backstage when she arrived into work that morning. So far it had been a highly eventful day after a fitful and sleepless night. After she had left Scott in the kitchen that morning she had made her way straight to the opera house. She did not know what to do about her situation at home, part of her was so desperate for her marriage she would almost do anything but there was another part of her that resented the time Scott had spent with Laurent.

Antoinette did not consider herself an unreasonable woman, a little stubborn perhaps, but not unreasonable. Her conversation with Scott would be considered as food for thought until a time came where she had to make a decision about it.

It had been bright and sunny when she had opened the door to the back of the Opera Populaire, she felt the warmth on her back disappear as the door closed behind her. By the time she reached the stage her spine was tingling, she felt distinctly uneasy, and she was cold.

There had been a brief confrontation with Joseph Buquet on the stage, one she did not care to think about too much and she had spent a few moments after this with the chorus.

When she finally brushed through the curtains to the backstage area she knew why she had been feeling so strange.

She did not see him when he spoke.

'Good Morning, Antoinette,' he had said, and his voice was unmistakable. She felt a shiver shoot down her back.

'Erik...' she had managed to say.

'Up here,' he said. Antoinette had looked up into the beams to see him sitting on one, legs hanging over the edge, white mask standing out from the shadows.

'What are you doing?' she asked.

'Lovely to see you too,' he had said, flirtation in his voice, as it so often had been with her.

She found herself smiling. 'My question still stands, Erik,' she said.

'I'm waiting for you,'

'Why?' she thought she had asked it too sharply but Erik did not pay any attention to her tone.

He shrugged. 'Christine is in her room,'

'Do I need to make sure that she is alright?'

'She is fine,' he had said, with barely a flicker of emotion. 'Tired,'

'I'm sure...'

He laughed. 'I have something for you,' he said. 'Catch,'

With that he took something from his pocket and dropped it down. She had reached out and caught it in her hands, it was a note with his seal on the back.

'Give it to the managers,' he said and stood on the beam. She always winced when he did this, was almost afraid to look in case he fell, she tried not to show it but it was always obvious that she was concerned.

'I'm fine,' he said, without looking at her. He jumped from one beam to another.

'I really wish you wouldn't do that,'

'I'm fine,'

She had nodded in response. There was no point arguing with him now just as there had been no point arguing with him when they were younger, when he cared about what she thought.

'What is all of this about, Erik?' she had heard the words before she even realised that she was speaking.

This made him turn back around to face her. 'What do you mean?'

'Making yourself known to the managers?' she said. 'Or Christine?'

'She is brilliant, Antoinette,' he said simply, giving nothing away, as usual.

'I know,' she had said softly. 'And beautiful,'

'Yes,'

'Do you love her?'

Erik did not move, he was so still she almost asked him if he was alright. 'Yes,' was all he said, before he leapt to another beam and then disappeared into blackness

That had been four hours ago, before she had briefly checked in to ensure that Christine was alright. Erik was honest, she was fine but tired, but Antoinette was not quite sure what she had expected. She worried for Christine, relationships, of any description with Erik were not healthy. He was a wonderfully gifted man, so strong yet so soft when he chose. He was a genius, no other description really sufficed. She knew only too well how easy it was to become swept up in him, lost in him.

Christine was so young, and had been through so much, that Antoinette was worried about what influence Erik might have on her.

Antoinette shook the thoughts from her mind and reminded her dancers to keep in time. They had begun rehearsals for Il Muto. Antoinette knew that Erik was, to some extent, testing them all. She had been surprised how easily the managers had been swayed into changing the production. They did not seem to know a great deal about the theatre.

It's a good job that she did... a good job that Erik did too. Lefevre had chosen Hannibal because it was something Carlotta had suggested, Antoinette knew that Erik would not have been very happy with this decision. He found Hannibal hollow in many respects.

His change to Il Muto was sudden but to her, not completely unexpected. The notes were a nice, if a little obsessive, touch. The managers had been wandering around rather perturbed, looking over their shoulders.

Surely two such intelligent men did not believe in ghosts.

She smiled to herself before calling a break.

'How is it going?' she turned around and smiled at Raoul.

'Not too badly,' she answered. 'They already know much of it, this is more of a recap, if you like,'

'It's a good job they do,' he said, sceptically.

'Indeed,' she said, holding his gaze.

'How would this ghost know they knew it?' he said.

'The ghost has been here for many years,' she said. 'I'm sorry Lefevre did not fill you in on the finer details,'

Raoul shrugged and smiled. 'I was just wondering...'

She nodded at him to continue.

'I was wondering if our ghost decides all of the shows,'

She shook her head. 'Not when Lefevre was here,'

'And now,'

'Well, Vicomte,' she said. 'Your managers do not appear to know very much at all about the arts,'

'And so he will make their decisions for them?' he asked.

'Perhaps,'

'He has on this occasion,'

'It will turn out to be a most positive move, I assure you, the show is perfect for this cast,' she said, with a smile.

'I hope so,' he said. 'My brother is not very happy about the changes, he is asking a lot of questions,'

She nodded. 'I see,' she said. 'Is he the decision maker?'

Raoul smiled again. 'As much as I hate to admit it,' he said. 'He tends to make a lot of the decisions,'

'I see,'

'I did my best to assure him that this is the best thing for the company,' he said. 'I don't think that he was entirely convinced,'

'Are you?'

'Am I convinced?' he said. 'Well, I trust your word, Madame Giry, you seem very level headed. Besides that I have been watching rehearsals and it does appear to be going well,'

'Perhaps if your brother was to spend a little more time here he would come to understand,'

'I think that's unlikely,' Raoul said, with a wry smile.

'That's a terrible shame,'

He nodded. 'I will speak to you later, Madame, have a lovely day,'


	33. Bother

**Chapter 32- Bother**

The managers had assigned the role of the pageboy to Christine, which she was actually very happy with. The role was silent, it was true, but the pageboy was expected to act well because of this fact. The expressions needed to be in the movements. Still, she had a feeling that this was a temporary assignment. Erik was fully aware of the roles that he been handed out and so far he had been rather quiet about it.

The show opened the next night and, as with Hannibal, he had made sure that she knew all of the lyrics to the main songs.

Their lessons usually took place in her room still but with the difference that now, instead of speaking to her from behind the walls he stood with her. He was standing with her now, she could barely take her eyes from him.

He looked at her. 'What is it?' he asked, frowning.

'Nothing,' she said, feeling hot with embarrassment.

'You're staring,' he said coolly.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'But... well, you have the most beautiful eyes,'

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but his jaw snapped quickly closed again. He said nothing but did not look displeased with her comment, in fact, if she didn't know better she would say that his eyes were sparkling with the hint of a smile.

'Concentrate,' he finally said, but his voice was not stern.

She began to sing again and he walked around her, studying her, as she looked at her face and body in the mirror. She felt his hand slip onto her stomach, and the other on her back, as he stood behind her. He pushed her back and held her stomach flat under his hand. It had the effect of almost elongating her whole body.

'Remember,' he said, holding her upright. 'Stand up straight,'

'Sorry,' she said.

'Continue,' he said, letting go of her but her body still felt hot where his hands had been.

When she had finished he clapped his hands together twice and, to her surprise, he smiled. It was not an unpleasant sight.

'Beautiful,' he said simply. 'Well done,'

She blushed at the comments and he reached out to touch her face.

'You look embarrassed,' he said, and the feeling of his thumb on her cheek made her breath catch in her throat. 'Don't.'

'Sorry...' she said.

'Stop apologising,' he said. 'You've done very well, you're up to the standard I would expect from you and you sound like... well, an angel,'

At this, it was her turn to smile. Christine still thought of him as her angel despite what she knew about him. His hand was still resting on her face and he was looking at her with such seriousness she stepped back from him.

'What's wrong?' she asked.

He stared at her a moment longer, the weight of his gaze holding her in. 'It's nothing,' he said.

'Are you sure?' she asked, watching sadness dance across his eyes. She had never before met anyone with so much expression in their eyes.

He nodded. 'You should practise a little more,' he said. 'And then get some rest,'

'Where are you going?' she asked.

'Home,'

'Can I come?'

Since he had taken her to his home that first time, the time when she nearly destroyed any relationship they had built, she had been back only twice. Both times simply to rehearse in relative peace and quiet. On the occasions he took her to his home he became quiet, almost subdued, and she wondered if it was the memory of her removing his mask that made him this way.

She liked to think that he had forgiven her moment of weakness, her moment of insane curiosity, but when she looked at him, she realised that he probably never would. How could he forgive her when she could barely forgive herself?

Her own memory of that day, of the sight of his face, had not faded nor had it dulled in the slightest. If anything it had become more vivid with her dreams. It was not a nightmare, as such, but a reminder that sometimes she could just go that one step too far.

'You can't come with me today,' he said, breaking her from her daydream. 'I have some business to take care of,'

She nodded. 'I understand,' or at least she wanted to, tried to.

'I will see you tomorrow,' he said. 'Rest soon, you have your last performance in Hannibal tonight... I don't want you to be too tired for that,'

'I'll rest,' she said.

'Promise me,' he said, firmly.

She answered his question with a nod.

* * *

Gilles was sitting on the bottom step of the marble staircase in the lobby. He thought that in the day, when there was no one around, that this was probably the most peaceful place in the whole of Paris. He liked to sit here, on his own, and mull his life over in his mind. Today, however, it was the theatre that plagued his mind.

There were certainly some strange goings on in the place, some he had expected, rumours travelled fast, but some were odd at best. He wondered what he was going to do about the money and if he was really cut out for running a theatre. He was disturbed by the sound of many footsteps behind him.

'There you are,' Richard's voice cracked into his silent thoughts, breaking them to shards.

'Yes,' he said. 'Here I am,'

'We've been looking for you,' Raoul de Chagny said.

'Why?' Gilles asked, looking at the crowd gathering around him. Ubaldo Piangi, Raoul De Chagny, Richard, Carlotta...

'Madame Giry asked us to meet her here,' he said.

'Well, perhaps my psychic powers are working after all,' he said, with a smile.

'Then maybe you can use them to tell us what is going on,' Carlotta snapped.

Silence fell with in the group and it was eventually broken by the sound of Madame Giry's cane at the top of the staircase.

'I have another note,'

Richard rolled his eyes. 'Oh...'

'Another one?' Raoul asked as Madame Giry arrived at the bottom step.

She nodded simply and handed it to Gilles. He opened it carefully, the same paper as before, the same ugly red seal, the same tasteful handwriting...

_'Messieurs, I am being ignored_,' he read aloud. Everyone looked at each other, confused slightly, pained almost. He continued, _'This really is your last chance_,'

Raoul smiled slightly, 'That sounds almost like a threat,'

'This does not worry you, Vicomte?' Richard asked.

The Vicomte responded by simply shaking his head.

Gilles cleared his throat and continued to read from the note, _'Christine Daae is a wonderful talent and I am more than anxious that her career should progress. Therefore, in the new production of Il Muto, Carlotta will be playing the pageboy and Miss Daae will be singing the lead_,'

Carlotta gasped loudly but Gilles carried on reading, _'The role which Miss Daae will be playing calls for charm and appeal. The role of the pageboy, however, is silent which makes my casting, in a word, ideal_.'

'How dare he!' Carlotta roared, her eyes blazing with anger. Gilles winced slightly at her fury as his partner reached out and touched her arm.

'Carlotta,' he said, softly. Oddly, Richard was rather good at this. 'The man is obviously completely insane if he thinks anyone is better suited to a lead role than you are,'

She huffed but said nothing more.

'Is that all he says?' Raoul said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

Gilles turned the piece of paper over in his hands, glancing at the back page. _'There's more_...'

Everyone looked at him. _'I shall watch my performance from my normal seat in Box five, which, I might add, should remain empty for me. Should these commands be further ignored a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. I remain, gentleman, your obedient servant- O.G_'

A quiet settled with in the group, letting the weight of the words from the note sink in. It was Carlotta who, rather angrily, broke the peace.

'Christine!' she shouted.

Raoul looked at her.

'This is all a ploy to help her,' Carlotta said, folding her arms across her chest.

'Insane,' Richard said, shaking his head from side to side.

'I know who sent these,' she said, grabbing note from Gilles hand and holding it above her head. Everyone looked at her, curiously, waiting for answers. 'The Victome... her lover... who else?'

Raoul rolled his eyes dramatically. 'Indeed,' he said. 'Can you believe this?'

'Signora,' Gilles attempted, softly, but she was too angry to listen. She stared at the Victome, her imposing figure bearing down on him.

'Tratadori,' she yelled.

'This changes absolutely nothing,' Richard said, walking towards her. 'You're still our star, Carlotta,'

Gilles nodded his agreement emphatically. 'And you always will be,'

She was shaking her head.

'We don't take orders from madmen!' Gilles insisted, standing to her right.

Richard said, taking his place at Carlotta's left. 'Miss Daae will be playing the pageboy, the silent role and you...' he stared at her, caught her eye. 'Will be playing the lead.'

Carlotta stomped forward, shrugged them both off. 'It's useless trying to appease me,' she said.

'We're not...'

She huffed again. 'Don't try to push it aside, it's not use trying to simply please me...'

As she gained momentum she dropped back into her native tongue leaving all of them lost. They stared at her, Richard pleading with her to calm down, Gilles' feeling an overwhelming sense of doom. He glanced at Raoul and Madame Giry, who were standing at the base of the staircase.

She set her cold eyes on him. 'Those who scorn his word, beware,' she said, her voice so level it was almost monotone. 'He sees all that happens here,'

Carlotta stormed back past them, finally back into French, 'You have rebuked  
me and you have replaced me...'

Gilles glanced at her. 'Signora, please,'

'We beseech you... listen...' Richard caught up to her, still attempting to calm her down. Gilles could feel Antoinette Giry close to him.

'This hour shall see your darkest fears,' she said, shaking her head, and for a moment Gilles thought that she looked pale.

Finally, Raoul stepped towards them, back straight, standing tall. 'I haven't see her in nearly a week,'

'Christine?' he asked, though he already knew.

'Yes,' Raoul nodded, glancing at Madame Giry. 'I want to see her, I want to know what's going on, I want to know where she went the other night,'

Gilles attention was caught by Carlotta, once again, at his side. 'Sing for us,' he said. 'We believe in you, your fans await... they come to see you, why would we not put you in the lead role?'

She looked at the ceiling.

'Don't you see,?' Richard asked her, somewhat put of breath. 'Your public needs you,'

'And we need you too,' Gilles added, lifting his eyebrows.

'Would you not rather have your precious little ingénue?' she scoffed.

'No,' Gilles said, shaking his head.

'The world wants you,' Richard smiled at her, noting that she was beginning to calm.

'Prima Donna,' Gilles said, mirroring Richards smile, though his heart was beating wildly. 'You're the first lady of the stage, the fans, they adore you,'

'Think about it,' Richard said, picking up his cue to pacify her more. 'How can you bow out now when they're all waiting for you, shouting your name?'

'Think of the queues around the theatre,'

Carlotta stared at Richard and then settled her eyes back onto Gilles. They had gained some of her trust back by playing to her sense of self worth. He knew that if they simply pushed a little more they would have her back in the fold and ready to perform, her name on the signs still.

'How can you deny us the triumph that awaits,' Richard said, 'How can you deny yourself?

Gilles could hear Madame Giry and Raoul behind her talking, it caught his attention.

'Meg told me that she spoke of an angel,' he said. Madame Giry posture gave away nothing, but it Gilles wasn't mistaken, her eyes widened somewhat.

'She means her tutor,' she said.

'She doesn't believe that he is her angel of music?' Raoul asked. 'Her father... she...'

Gilles listened to both conversations, trying to decide which was more important. _Angel of music_?

'I don't know monsieur,'

'Her tutor, Madame,' Raoul demanded, suddenly his won eyes wide. 'Is her tutor, this angel, is it this ghost?'

Madame Giry looked away.

The chaos in the lobby continued as Raoul demanded answers of Madame Giry and Richard attempted to calm Carlotta. Gilles could do nothing but shake his head, wondering how on earth they got themselves into a situation they were barely in control of.

'You are our star, you will be the countess, the lead,' Richard was saying. Madame Giry glared at him and he froze. 'Heaven help you,' she said. 'Those who doubt...'

Carlotta smiled as the quiet began to drop in the room. 'I am the prima Donna,' she said. 'I am the countess,'

Gilles nodded, 'Of course,'

'Exactly,' Raoul said. 'We can't just cave to crazy demands,'

'Fools,' Madame Giry said, and her voice echoed around the lobby. 'You are fools to flout his warnings,'

Raoul ignored her. 'We ensure that these demands are rejected,' he said. 'For the sake of our own sanity, for the sake of this theatre and for the sake of Miss Daae,'

'You are putting us all in danger,' Madame Giry said.

Once again Gilles got the impression that there was far more to the relationship between Christine Daae and Raoul De Chagny than anyone was letting on. He was inclined to take up Carlotta's insinuation that the pair were actually lovers.

Raoul shook his head at Madame Giry. 'This charade, his game,' he said. 'It's over,'

'This is not a game,' she said, despair entering her voice. 'And if it were, it is certainly not a game you have any hope of winning,'

'In box five the new game will begin,'

Madame Giry shook her head slowly. 'Then I fear the outcome,' she said turning her back on them and beginning to ascend the staircase.

'Carlotta, the countess,' Raoul said, nodding at her. 'Miss Daae, the pageboy,'

And then a sound came out, blasting over the top of them and all around them, chilling Gilles to the core of his soul. The voice was deep and powerful, so strong it sent vibrations through his nerves and echoes around the room. It was clear and precise, a warning they were expected to head but Gilles feared they had angered a beast.

'So,' it boomed and they all looked at each other. Raoul began to walk around, trying to find the origin of the sound. Gilles glanced to the top of the staircase but Madame Giry was long gone. 'It is to be war between us. If these demands are not met then a disaster beyond your imagination will occur,'


	34. She Will be Loved

**A/N: First off: Apologies to anyone I may have offended in email/review replies. There are, however, a few things I need to get off my chest.**

Be clear that this is not film based. I didn't like the film much, as a follower of Leroux's Erik I can't bring myself to enjoy watching The Phantom camply flick his cape around like a dancer. You will see shortly that there is only really one part of the film I actually liked- The murder of Joseph Buquet.

This is play based for the purpose of simplicity.

My other comment will be that I will not rush this story, I will not skip bits or change bits of the original unnecessarily. I said, from the start, that my own part will be padding, additions and explanations. The ending, will be different, know now that that is the only part.

If you are hoping for or expecting an Erik/ other character from me, stop reading now. Erik is either with Christine or is alone. There is only one woman for him because of his… innocence (?) passion (?). I believe in my heart that Christine is more emotionally stable than Erik and could love Raoul or another but for Erik to really love another? No.

I truly think that this is the greatest love story ever written, bitter or sweet, and to mess around with the main structure too much is… desperately unappealing to me. Hence the reason I usually write POST original fics.

This is new to be simply because I had an idea, I had a change, I had a story and I therefore decided to post it. I'm working to be a better writer, as we all are, and for that I have had to slow my chapters, making them longer. To do that there has to be no rushing, no missing bits, no skipping sections…

Many of you will get bored and leave, some will continue because you are intrigued.

For those of you that go: I don't blame you, thank you for reading.

For those who stay: I will try not to disappoint.

**Chapter 33- She Will be Loved**

It was dark in the corridors at the very back of the Opera Populaire and Antoinette had sought the cool and privacy it had to offer. She sat in a stool with her back to the wall, resting her head against the cool bricks. It wasn't long before he found her.

'You tried,' he said, his greetings to her were rarely hello.

She looked around her, finally finding a glimpse of his mask in the dark to her right. 'Tried?' she asked, though she knew what he was referring to.

'Yes,' he said. 'It's not your fault they won't listen,'

'You don't have to do this,' she said, regarding what was currently unspoken.

'But I do,'

'You have a choice,' she reasoned.

'What choice?' he asked.

'Let it go,' she said. 'Let Carlotta play the lead, let Christine find her feet...'

'Impossible,' he said.

'Why would it be so bad?' she asked.

'Have you heard Carlotta sing?' he asked and she knew he had a point. Antoinette had often wondered why she had become adored and so famous when to her, Carlotta's voice sounded shrill at best. To Erik's tuned ears it must be hell to listen to.

'I have,' she said. 'But that isn't the only issue here,'

'No,'

'Christine has been noticed, she is young, she will find her own way,' Antoinette said, giving him the logical argument he so often demanded.

'You and I both know that that is not the case,' he said. Again, he was right. Christine would probably not just make it on her own, without some pressure, without someone pushing her. However, she did not want to state what was clear to her... the patron, Raoul de Chagny, would see that Christine got the adulation she deserved.

'You don't need to hurt anyone,'

'I do,'

'Why?'

'I can't be seen to make empty threats,' he said. 'I have a reputation to maintain,'

'Please...'

'I won't hurt you,' he said, almost softly.

'I know that,'

'Then why are you so concerned?' he asked.

'Because it is wrong,'

'Taking the moral high ground, Antoinette?' he asked but his tone was not as angered as she expected, not even as mocking.

'Neither of us have ever set foot on the moral high ground, Erik, I know that,'

'I loved you,' he said.

'And I you,' she managed to say.

'Yet somehow you married someone else,' he said but the bitterness she once thought she might hear was not there.

'He is a good man,'

'He is,' Erik agreed.

'I love him,'

'I don't doubt that,'

'Then why...'

'Because you must understand that all of the things you would give for him, do for him,' he said. 'I will do for Christine,'

'You won't give up your home,'

'Would you?'

She looked at him as he stepped closer, caught the smell of soap. 'If it was a choice between him and my home... yes,'

'Even now?' he asked and she wondered how he knew about their problems.

'Even now,' she said softly.

'You and I are different people,' he said. 'We have different values and beliefs,'

'We love the same way,'

'We don't,'

'Passionately, fiercely,'

'You like to think you do,' he said. 'Not that you are not passionate but you're not like me,'

She fell silent because she knew, deep down, that he was right. His love was all being and verged on obsessive, her love was pure and passionate but never so clingy that it could suffocate.

'Don't hurt her, Erik,' she said.

'I have no intention of hurting her,'

'I know,' she said. 'But sometimes your _actions_ get in the way of your intentions,'

'I can't back out now,' he said.

'You're going to hurt people?' she said, half question, half statement.

'I'm going to see that they take me seriously,'

She sighed, felt her heart ache.

'I would never hurt you or Meg,' he added.

She nodded.

'But this is something that I have to do,'

She nodded again, no words would come from her lips, she knew now that there was no talking him out of it.

'I have given them ample time to prepare, ample time to heed my warnings,' he said. 'They have hardly used this time effectively,'

'The managers are new,' she said. 'They don't really understand,'

'Then after tomorrow night,' he said. 'They will understand,'

'Perhaps they will change their minds,'

He laughed. 'You know that they won't,'

'I can hope though,'

'You can,' he said, as he leaned down and kissed her cheek. The sensation of his lips there was warm and made her heart beat harder but the tingle she used to feel was gone. She was glad of this, glad of Scott.

'We can never be friends again, can we?' she asked.

'No,'

'It's a shame,'

'Yes,'

'Time moves on, it doesn't wait for us,' she whispered. 'Instead it sweeps us up with it,'

He said nothing.

'I feel old,'

'You're not old,' he said, resting his hand on her shoulder.

'No, perhaps not, but I feel it,'

'Then rectify it,' he said simply before turning his back and vanishing, once again, into blackness.

* * *

Christine had been practising all morning and when the knock at her door came she was startled.

'Hello,' she said, without opening it.

'Hello,' came the reply.

It was Raoul, unmistakably.

'Can I come in?' he asked, after a moments silence.

She thought for a moment, wondered about the consequences but she realised that she missed her old friend. Besides, Erik had said he had business to attend to that evening, he would not be back soon. It would not hurt for her to speak to her friend for a few moments.

She opened the door and smiled at him. The sight of his face there, in front of her, made her heart skip a beat. He was still handsome, probably the most handsome man she had ever met, he was still sweet, still so blonde and fair skinned. He was taller than she remembered, broader, stronger. She took the sight in, let her eyes absorb the information.

'You're alright,' he said, and he sounded relieved.

'Yes,' she said, feeling confused as she stepped aside and allowed him to enter. 'You have seen me in the shows, you know I am alright,'

'I see you on stage, Christine,' he said, taking her hands. Suddenly, she was very aware that they were alone in her room.

'Isn't that good enough to know that I am well?' she asked.

'Seeing you from that distance will never be good enough for me,'

'I'm fine,' she said, swallowing.

'I see that now,' he said. 'You should have let me see you,'

'I've been tired,' she said.

'Yes, Madame Giry said that you were,'

'She's a good woman,' Christine said, moving away from him and sitting near the dressing table. Raoul remained standing but she could feel his eyes on her.

'I can see that she is,'

'Then you should listen to her,' She said with a smile. 'I told her I was fine when she came to visit me... everyday...'

Raoul nodded. 'How have you been?' he asked.

'I've been well enough,'

'I'm sorry about your father,' he said quietly. 'I... we... would have been at the funeral but we found out too late,'

'That happens,' she said but she could not help but think that Philippe had prevented it.

The fact was that, though he did not dislike her, Philippe could not understand how his brother could fall in love with the daughter of a lowly circuit violinist. Her father had little fame, no breeding and, as it  
transpired, no money. Philippe De Chagny was a snob in reality, though he was good at heart. All he had wanted was what was best for his brother, the only problem with that was that Raoul was not allowed to decide what this was for himself.

'I know,' he said and he looked uncomfortable.

'Don't worry,' she said, seeing sadness in his eyes.

'I feel bad that I wasn't there for you,' he said, their eyes met and she felt a familiar jolt in her heart.

'We had not seen each other in years, Raoul,' she said. 'Your family is very important and very busy, you can't be expected to drop everything for an old... friend,'

_'Love_,' he corrected. 'And I'm not sure that it is that old,'

Christine opened her mouth but was so unsure of what to say she let her jaw hang, mouth open in surprise.

'I'm sorry,' he said, blushing. 'I shouldn't have said anything,'

'No,' she said. 'It's fine... really,'

'Are you sure?' he asked.

She nodded.

'Seeing you there,' he continued. 'That night, on the stage... I felt as though nothing had changed between us,'

She said nothing, had nothing to say, she just sat there, staring up at this dashing man.

'Nothing has changed between us, Lotte,' he said softly, stepping forward and taking her hands in his. 'I still love you, I knew that night and though I haven't seen you, my feelings have not gone away. They are still there, you are still in my heart... the very sight of you makes me deliriously happy, can you understand that? Can you believe that? What a fool I must sound like to you,'

'I'm a little surprised,' she said softly, her heart was thumping in her chest, so hard she thought it might burst out.

'I'm sorry,' he apologised again.

'Don't be,'

'I know that I shouldn't even be alone with you,' he said. 'I'm sure Madame Giry would have something to say about that,'

He smiled warmly and it was infectious.

'What do you say?' he asked, hands gripping hers. 'Have you missed me?'

She looked at him for a moment, watched as his golden fringe fell over his eyes, and then his hand brush it away in the casual way only he could do it. For a moment she wished she had done it for him, wanted to touch him.

'I missed you,' she said. 'But things are different now,'

'Why?' he asked.

'I...'

'Is there someone else?' he asked.

'In a way,'

'Is it this tutor?' he asked, a cloud crossing his eyes.

'My tutor?' she asked.

'He is _the_ ghost, isn't he?' Raoul asked, kneeling in front of her and looking into her eyes. 'This ghost they all speak of...'

'Yes,' she said softly.

'Isn't that dangerous, Christine?' he asked but didn't wait for her to respond. 'He's making threats, warning us...'

She stared at him and said nothing, she moved her hands and gripped the sides of her seat, it was the only thing she could do to stop herself from shrugging. Erik was Erik, she was coming to realise that.

'Maybe you should listen to him,' she said.

'You're still playing the pageboy,' he said gently.

She smiled. 'That's fine with me,'

'But not with him?'

'I suppose we'll find out,' she said, and felt a cold trickle along her spine. They did not want to find out, she was almost sure of this, but what could she do? She knew how it must look, she knew that she had no options, at this stage the managers decision was final.

'His threats...' Raoul said, letting the word hang.

'They're real,' she said.

'And he can cause a disaster?' Raoul asked and she heard the scepticism thick in his voice.

'I don't know,' she said. It was true that she was not bothered about being the pageboy, it was rather nice simply not being a member of the chorus, but she knew that Erik had wanted her to lead. The managers altering his plan would not sit very well with him.

'He seems dangerous, Christine,' Raoul said, seriously.

She blinked at him, trying to gather her thoughts.

'I don't think you should let him teach you anymore,' he said.

'Excuse me?' she asked, feeling a burning in her chest.

She saw him swallow. 'I think you should stay away from him and let me hire you a new tutor,'

'No,' she said, firmly.

'It's for the best,'

'Who do you think you are?' she asked.

'I'm your... friend,' he said.

'Then do what is best for me,' she stood and walked towards the door. 'I think you should leave,'

He walked to her and pulled her into his arms. She resisted him but part of her wanted to melt into him, to be near him again. Still, Raoul held on tight.

'I'm worried for you,' he said. 'And I'm sorry if I offended you but I just want you to be safe. You yourself said you're not sure quite what he is capable of, I have heard the rumours,'

'You have heard the rumours but you don't know anything, Raoul,' she snapped. 'If you did you would be advising your managers to listen,'

'I'm sorry...' he said, still holding onto her. 'I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm worried, can't you see?'

She swallowed the lump in her throat. 'I know,' she said, softly.

'He is dangerous,' he said.

'I know that too,' she said. 'But he is not dangerous to _me_, you must understand that. He cares for me,'

Raoul pushed her away slightly and looked into her eyes. 'And you care for him?'

'Of course I do,' she said. 'He has done a lot for me,'

He shook his head. 'That isn't what I mean,' his voice was quiet. 'Do you... love him?'

Christine felt her heart thud at the sound of the words, she had tried not to think about the subject, she was not sure if she wanted to know how deep her feelings were for Erik.

'Should I take your silence as a yes?' Raoul asked, and she saw the hurt in his eyes.

'I don't know,' she said, her throat felt tight.

He nodded. 'He...'

'I haven't seen you in so long,' she said, heart aching.

'I know,' he whispered, moving away from her.

'I do care about you,' she reached for his hand, took it gently in hers. 'I always have... I'm just not sure how to control this,'

'I'm sorry I disturbed you,' he tried to pull his hand away but she gripped it tightly.

'Please don't be angry,' she said. 'I'm not saying that I don't love you... but it's been a long time, you must see that? Things can't be as we were when we were teenagers,'

He smiled slightly. 'You're still a teenager,'

'I know,' she returned his smile but the light moment did not last long.

'I still love you,' he said. 'I want you to love me,'

'I need time to get my head around this,' she said. 'I need to sort myself out,'

'I understand,' he nodded. 'Of course, I will give you the time you need but you should know that I will be waiting for you,'

She nodded, placed her hand over her throat to hide her nervous flush.

'I can see myself out,' he said. 'It's good to see you,'

'And you,'

'I look forward to tonight,' he said. 'Seeing your final show of Hannibal,  
I'm sure you will be magnificent as usual,'

His words were warm and sincere, his smile, though forced, was meant. This man was the boy who had saved her from bullies and rescued her scarf from the sea and given her something to look forward to everyday she was away from home. Now, as a man, he was dashing and sweet, honest and loyal.

When the door clicked shut behind her she sat on the edge of the bed, letting her eyes move to the full length mirror, letting her mind drift to thoughts of Erik. Somehow, Raoul kept entering her mind, she tried to focus on only Erik but it wouldn't come. Why did he have to come back now? Why enter her life after being gone for so long? Why would he choose now to defy his brother?

Why?

So many questions and so few answers


	35. Secret

**Chapter 34- Secret**

Erik had decided that that evening was not the night to deal with his little problem. He decided, instead, to take a break in the afternoon for a little sleep. For once, sleep came easily to him and he had slept rather soundly. He was now sitting in the rafters high above the theatre waiting for Christine to enter for her final performance of 'Think of Me'. It was the only part of the entire Opera that he actually enjoyed.

Not that he would not watch Christine perform in anything, but really, Hannibal was not good enough for a theatre as famous as the Opera Populaire... even if it was having a bad run.

When she walked onto the stage he felt the usual flutter in his chest, the twist in his stomach. His nervousness around her was barely contained but somehow he had always managed to keep his composure. When he watched her perform he could be the way he wanted to be.

Her voice soared over the audience, keeping them riveted to the show, he closed his eyes and let her voice soothe him but it didn't have it's usual effect. Something was different tonight, something had changed in her voice, in the way she moved across the stage. She did not seem quite so sure of her movements, of her actions and, mostly, of her voice.

He had only seen her that morning and she had been fine, her voice had sounded almost too good, and now the change- at least to him- was dramatic.

Erik's eyes wandered around the auditorium and then focused on the Box one, where the De Chagny's were taking in the last show. Raoul, the younger brother, did not look his usual self either. Something in his eyes was off but his focus was clearly on Christine, his old sweetheart.

He felt something sharp in his chest and then a burning build from his stomach. He did not like the way Raoul's eyes never left Christine, even when Philippe De Chagny attempted to speak to him. Something was very wrong here.

Was he missing Christine? Raoul had been to visit her and she had ushered him away, perhaps he had been there since. Running his fingers through his hair Erik let his eyes move back to Christine. To her credit she looked out over the full audience, her eyes did not drift towards the box, it did not waiver from its focus at the back of the room.

He would like to think that he was reading too much into what he was seeing but Erik was not a great believer in coincidences.

The fact that Christine was not herself coupled with the fact that Raoul was obviously not quite himself, set Erik on edge.

There was no such thing as coincidence.

* * *

The final night was going well but Antoinette could see that the managers were getting very nervous. They had made there decision, though, she thought, and now they must live with it. Tonight was the last performance of Hannibal before the opening of Il Muto the following evening. There was not break for them, no time to breath, the costumes were finished, there would be one final rehearsal, and then it would begin.

Erik liked to test his new managers.

Monsieur Andre was behind the curtain not from away from her, looking around him and Monsieur Firmin was near the Orchestra pit doing the same. She knew what they were looking for, of course, they were looking for the Ghost. Her head tilted upwards slightly and she looked out, beyond the grand chandelier, to where she knew he would be sitting.

Sure enough, he was watching the performance carefully from one of the beams above the grand circle. She did not dare look for too long, in case someone caught her staring, but it was good to see him staying with old habits.

As if on cue, Gilles Andre walked towards her. 'The show is going well,' he said.

She nodded but said nothing.

'Are you going to continue this?' he asked, referring to her almost silent treatment of the two managers.

'What?' she asked, acting as if she had no idea what he was talking about. He sighed. "We are the managers here,' he said, quite firmly.

'You are fools,'

'We could fire you,' he said sharply, but it was an empty threat and they both knew it.

'You could,' she said, and left it there.

'We have to keep some control over this theatre, Madame Giry, surely you can understand that,'

She simply stared at him. There was no answer to his statement because, in a way, he was right, but she knew that this would all end very messily. She knew Erik well, too well, perhaps, and with this came a knowledge of his vicious streak. Erik had given them fair warning, something he did not do very often, if they did not heed it then they would simply have to deal with the consequences.

'Help us beat him,' Monsieur Andre said, breaking the silence.

She arched her eyebrows at him. 'Beat him?' she asked.

'Yes,' he said.

That was when she started to laugh. It wasn't loud at first but the more she thought about it the funnier it became. It had been a while since she had laughed so heartily but it was there, rumbling from her stomach. She placed her hand on the wall, tears rolled down her cheeks and she fought for her breath.

By the time the laughs started to fade from her, Monsieur Andre was looking at her with confusion in his eyes. He did not speak until she had stopped completely.

'What is it?' he asked. 'What is so funny?'

'Beat him,' she said simply.

'I believe we can,' he said, with conviction.

_'That_,' she began. 'Is why it is so funny,'

Then she simply turned and walked away.

* * *

'Bravo, bravo,' Christine paused in the hallway and tried to pinpoint where she had heard the voice before. It was coming from behind her, it was deep and smooth but not as rich as Erik's nor as well spoken as Raoul's.

Slowly she turned to face the origin of the voice and immediately recognised the man who had taken her father's home... who had taken her home. She felt her pulse quicken as she backed away from him, not wanting to see him, not wanting this terrible flashback.

Still, he walked towards her, his long legs gaining on her fast. She could tell from his face that he was trying hard not to be threatening but to her, he would always be the man who ruined her life. Christine only stopped backing away when she hit a wall and she no longer had anywhere to back away to.

'I don't want to hurt you,' he commented as he leant against the wall next to her... too close for comfort. She tried not to flinch when he smiled but she could not help it.

'What do you want then?' she asked, staring at him but at the same time trying desperately to shrink away.

'I saw your performance,' he smiled, as if that explained anything.

'A lot of people did,'

His smile widened and she felt a chill run along her spine. 'Do you remember my name?'

'Gabriele,' Without hesitation, she remembered him all to well. She remembered thinking how handsome he was, how smart he looked, how tall he seemed... her memory also clung to her hatred of him, the snake who took her home.

He nodded, as if she had answered correctly in class. 'I enjoyed your performance,' he said, putting his hand in his pocket, trying to look casual. 'You were very... _enlightening_,'

'What do you want?' she asked, trying to keep her breathing even in an attempt to show that she was not afraid of him.

'I wanted to see you,'

'Why?'

'To compliment you on a tremendous show,'

She shrugged, 'I was not the only person in the show,' she blinked away from his gaze. 'Monsieur Piangi's dressing room is just along the corridor to the left,'

'Ah,' Gabriele pushed himself away from the wall. 'But he is not nearly as good to look at as you,'

'Does that line work on a lot of woman, Monsieur?' she made the sarcasm in her voice thick. It was true that she was afraid and though he probably knew it, she was not about to show it.

'Funnily,' he stepped a little closer. 'It does,'

She slid along the wall, away from him, 'What do you really want?'

For a moment he did not say anything, he let his blue eyes look around him and then settle back on her. The room was dark but she could see him clearly, she could see his clean cut look, sharp expensive clothes, neat hair. It made you want to trust him when you first met him, his softness of voice gave you comfort... the man was an eel.

'We have a mutual friend,' he finally said, brushing the dust from the bricks from his jacket.

'And that is why you're here?' she asked.

He half nodded. 'Well, as it happens, we have two mutual friends,'

'Two,' she said, staring at him. 'How about that...'

'You know Louis,' he stated.

'Not particularly well,' she answered, beginning to feel a nervous pulse throughout her body.

'He's a good friend of mine,' Gabriele continued. 'Louis, that is,'

'Shame,' she said quickly. 'He seemed like such a nice gentleman,'

'He is nice,' Gabriele smiled again. 'Once you get to know him properly... still, I wouldn't cross him, if you get what I mean,'

'I'm not sure that I _want_ to get what you mean,' she swallowed hard. 'I'd like you to leave now,'

'Sorry,' he said, making a small shrug of his shoulders and wincing his face as if it was painful to say. 'I can't do that,'

'Why not?'

'We need to discuss our other mutual friend,' he said.

Christine shook her head and tried to move past him but he blocked her easily. 'I don't think we have anything to discuss,'

'Are you sure about that?' he looked down at her, his eyes intense.

'Positive,' she said and managed to move past him.

'I'm only trying to save you,' he said.

'From what exactly?' she asked, still walking away.

'Our mutual friend,'

'Stop saying that,' she glanced over her shoulder at him. He was watching her.

He nodded. 'Fine,' he said. 'Then let us talk about Erik Lambourne,'

She stopped moving, felt her heart plunge into her stomach. Every nerve ending felt exposed, as if she could feel the air moving on her skin.

'What about him?'

'He is my friend,'

'He is no one's friend,' she said.

Gabriele laughed and it was not a pleasant sound. 'Ah, so you know him a little better than I thought,'

'I know him well enough,'

'If he is no one's friend,' Gabriele tilted his head. 'What is he to you?'

'My teacher,' she responded, a little too quickly. She saw Gabriele's cruel smile and had to turn away from it. With her back to him she debated ending the conversation but she knew that she could not, she needed to know now. 'Your teacher,' he said. 'Of course,'

'What?'

'Nothing,' he coughed. 'You're just... very _defensive_,'

'I like him,' she explained. 'I am allowed to like my teacher, aren't I?'

'Right,' he said.

'So he is not our mutual friend after all,' Christine felt a lift at saying this.

'No,' Gabriele said, his voice suddenly very cold. 'He is _your_ teacher and _my_ business associate,'

She spun around. 'What?'

'You didn't think that he simply taught you all day and then disappeared into darkness did you?'

'Of course not,' her voice was hoarse.

'He owns your father's house,' Gabriele said, Christine felt the punch in her chest. 'Rents it out, makes a nice little return,'

'Why are you telling me this?' she asked.

'I thought you had a right to know,'

'You're a cruel man,'

'Aren't you glad I told you?' he asked, tilting his head again, looking at her as though she was a small child.

'No,' she said firmly.

He smiled. 'Oh well,'

She was about to say more, berate him, cry... she wasn't quite sure, when she heard footsteps behind her.

'What are you doing here?' it was not who she expected. She felt Madame Giry's arm wrap around her waist as she stood at her side.

'Looking lovely,' he said to her.

'Go away,' she said firmly.

He nodded and moved past them. 'I was just leaving,'

Christine felt a wave of nausea and she tried to hold herself against it. When Gabriele was at the end of the corridor he turned around. 'Goodbye ladies, have a pleasant evening,' and then he was gone.

Madame Giry looked at her with concern in her eyes. 'What did he do to you?'

'Nothing,' Christine croaked.

'Did he say why he was here?' she asked.

'To compliment me on my performance,' she said, feeling the words stick in her throat.

Madame Giry raised her eyebrows. 'He was intimidating you,'

'I suppose that's what he does,' her heart was beginning to ache, she wanted to be alone, to think.

'I'll walk you back to your room,' the older woman took her by her arm. 'Good grief, child, you're freezing,'

'Tired,' Christine managed to say.

'Lets get you to bed,' she said.

Bed, Christine thought, where I will lie awake and wonder how all of this happened to me.


	36. Cat In The Cradle

**Chapter 35- Cat in the Cradle**

The night had been a long one and at six in the morning Christine was almost positive she had not closed her eyes once. Every time she had tried the thoughts of Gabriele came swimming back to her and with it the knowledge that Erik was the reason that she did not have her home. The night had also been a cool one, far cooler than the past few weeks, and she was lying with her blankets twisted around her body.

Part of her had expected Erik to come to see her in the night, somewhere deep down, she had wanted him to. There was a terrible hurt inside her that only intensified the more she thought about him and, the more she tried to get rid of it, the deeper it dug itself into her heart. For the first time in months her heart felt truly heavy, as if everything she had achieved was now worthless and meaningless- a waste of time.

_She was hurt._

The lump she had finally managed to make go away only moments earlier had somehow managed to crawl back into her throat. She wanted to cry, felt that she should but in a strange way knew that she could not. There were rehearsals to do, costumes to put finishing touches on, cast members to meet  
with and Carlotta to defer to.

This did not change a lot- she still hurt.

Inside part of her suspected that Gabriele had found out about their relationship and had made up the story about Erik to hurt her. The more she considered this theory the less plausible it seemed. Gabriele was, after all, a man of business. He would not deliberately hurt her, it was not worth any money to him, so to make something up would be pointless.

Christine was no fool, she knew that Gabriele telling her was all down to something about Erik. He wanted to get to Erik, not to her.

Still, she was sure both of these things would now happen.

The fact that she had not seen Erik since the previous morning did not concern her, when he said he had business to attend to he was usually gone for a day. Now, at least, she knew what business it was.

She felt manipulated and used, her chest was tight and aching, she held her hand to it in an attempt to stem the pain but the flow continued relentlessly. Erik had allowed her father to get into debt with him in order to take everything he had, his pride, his money and his home.

All were gone.

In the process he had hurt Christine.

Her father had always been the most important thing in the world to her, he had been her rock, her guiding star and her light. Her father was her hero and her protector and Erik was in some parts accountable for his death. She was in no doubt that in the end her father had simply lost his fight.

Erik and Gabriele had taken it away.

It was then that she heard the knock on the back of the mirror, the sound Erik had used recently to signal that he was there.

She said nothing and let him enter.

He stepped through the mirror and his face looked solemn and tired. She stared up at him from her bed.

It was a moment before he spoke.

'You look tired,' he said, there was little warmth in his voice.

'I am,' She hoped that her voice was equally as cool.

Erik tilted his head to the side, light from somewhere slipped along a line of his mask, he looked down at her and frowned. Usually he sat down but today he remained standing, just looking at her.

'Why are you so tired?' he asked, his eyes seemed darker than usual.

'No sleep,' she answered.

'What's wrong?' It was a question but the look on his face suggested that he might already know.

'Why did you do it?' she asked him, not frozen with fear, not terrified he might hurt her, she did not think anything could hurt her more than she already felt.

'Do what?' he frowned, for the first time looking confused.

She stared at him. 'My father...'

'What about him?' his voice was sharp, _losing patience_.

Christine did not answer, she simply looked at him, frowning, waiting for him to finally be honest with her.

'Were you with the Vicomte last night?' Erik asked, his eyes dipped deeper into shadow, they looked almost black from where she was lying.

'How dare you,' She said quietly.

He lifted his eyebrows, not in surprise, but in a gesture of mocking her. 'How dare _I_?'

She nodded. 'You have no right to ask me such questions,'

'I _know_ you saw him,'

'And what?' she snapped. 'Why does that matter, what is it to do with you?'

'You love him?' he spat angrily but he did not move.

'I didn't think so,' she said. 'Until last night, until I found out about you... until you crushed me...'

He paused, eyes on her but his frown deepened. 'Crushed you?' His voice was quieter now.

'Yes,' she choked, feeling her chest swell with pain as if she was about to burst.

'Tell me,' he said, cold. 'Ma _chere_, how was it that I crushed you?'

'My father...'

'Stop saying that,' He growled. 'You and the boy, the Victome...'

'Is nothing to do with this!'

'Is everything to do with this,' He countered quickly.

'Nothing,' she whispered, feeling her eyes well with tears. She did not know what he was talking about, she did not care. 'You took my home,'

He frowned. 'Your home?'

'My father's house,' She said, feeling the reality of the words dry her mouth. 'You took it,'

When he said nothing she wiped the tears from under her eyes and took a long, deep breath. 'He borrowed money from your little company and you took his home when he died. You left me with nothing. How could you do it? How could _you_...'

Suddenly, he looked calmer, almost lost. His eyes had lightened a little, the angry frown had vanished and was replaced with wide eyes. This was a look she had not seen on him before, the look of surprise, the look of recognition.

'I don't know their names,' He finally stated,

'It doesn't matter,'

'I didn't know you,' Erik said. 'I didn't know him,'

'And that makes it alright?' She asked, staring at him, refusing to blink, refusing to back down.

'He owed me money,'

'How could he ever pay you back?' She sighed, looked down at her hands. 'How could he pay you back when he borrowed so much and had so little?'

'He had a house,' His voice was soft.

'My house,' She said. 'My _home_,'

'I didn't know,'

'How could you not know?' She demanded.

He shrugged. 'I put the money in and get my return, I don't ask any questions,'

She shook her head, tears dripped from her face, they were flowing freely now. 'How could you...'

'Its business, Christine,'

'It's people's lives,'

'You forgive me murder yet you don't forgive me this?' He snapped. 'Hypocrisy,'

_'I_ am the hypocrite?' she stared at him and then, shaking her head. 'Perhaps I am, perhaps all that matters to me is _me_ but that should be enough, Erik, you claim to care, you claim to care more than _anyone_ yet... my father...'

Erik said nothing but did not look away yet he did not look right into her eyes, it seemed he had no trouble meeting her gaze.

'You killed my father,' The tug she felt in her heart was hard and unpleasant.

'Your father died,' He replied. 'I did not kill him. You have not answered for your actions, you and Raoul de Chagny...'

'Are none of your business,' She interrupted.

'You admit you love him,'

'I admit nothing,' Her heart thumped. 'You can't turn this around Erik, I have no guilt to feel but you... I cared, Erik, I cared for you and you did this? How can I ever forgive you? How can I ever _forget_ this?'

He said nothing.

'Go,'

He blinked. 'What?'

'Get out,'

'Christine...' His voice had softened again, the softer it became the harder it pulled at her soul.

'Leave...'

'Listen to me,'

'No, I can't,' She said. 'I can't forgive you.'

He closed his eyes. 'Please listen, I didn't know,'

'You think that that matters?'

'Yes,'

'Well, it doesn't,' she said. 'Whether you knew or not it happened,'

'Christine...'

'Please, just leave,' She managed to get the words out before a sob caught her off guard. Her hand flew to her chest but the pain came again, the heart break.

'I can't leave you like this...'

She looked up at him through a film of tears. 'I'm not asking you,' She gasped. 'I don't want to see you again, I don't need your kind of help... I need you to leave, I'm telling you to go,'

Erik stood there for a moment, silent, staring at her. When she did not look up at him he walked towards the door and turned to look at her again. Part of her was expecting an apology, expected him to be sorry... she should have known better. Maybe if she had had the courage to look at him, to see his beautiful eyes, to see the softness of his lips, the broadness of his shoulders, maybe he would have said sorry... maybe she would have forgiven him.

But she simply couldn't. Nothing could make her look at him. The only thing she could focus on was that this man had caused the death of her father, whether he knew it or not, and that was unforgivable.

* * *

Scott had just left after trying to talk Laurent into staying on another month for the fourth time that day. He had told him he was wasting his time but Scott, being Scott, had tried all the same. Now alone he looked out of the window at the dark sky and wondered how his sister's new show was coming along. Scott had told him all about it and he had been quietly envious that Scott was going to the performance the following night.

Laurent did not like to say so but he actually quite liked to attend the opera. He had been with Gabriele on a few occasions and as much as he hated to admit it, he had basically enjoyed every single one.

The night had come earlier now, a sign that the end of summer was coming close, and the sky was black. He walked to the doors that led out to a small balcony and opened them, breathing in the fresh air as it entered the room. In all of the time he had been staying at his sister's house he had not opened these doors, too afraid to show himself.

When he stepped out he immediately felt uneasy and spun around to look to his right. On the railing around the balcony sat a dark clothed man wearing a white mask.

_This was trouble._

'Erik...' He swallowed as he felt the bile creep into his throat.

'Good evening,' Erik said, eyes twinkling in the evening light.

Laurent had been waiting for it, waiting for someone to find him but as it happened, this was completely unexpected.

_Why was Erik Lambourne here_?

At least with Louis he could run, he could hide, he could attempt to fight back but Erik... _Oh Lord_ he was dead. He felt a cold sweat break out all over his body as he looked at the man before him. The white mask was always there, it was not a variable, it was a constant. He always wore black though his shirts were white. Always eerily neat, frighteningly calm…

Laurent felt cold dread swallow him whole, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. Laurent was going to die, after surviving for so long in hiding, after being helped so kindly by Scott, after all of that he was going to die...

'Good evening,' He said, as he swallowed back some fear, trying to banish it from his voice. It was no use, though, he was terrified.

'How are you?' Erik asked, but his eyes never left Laurent's face. God, _those_ eyes.

'Fine,' was all Laurent could manage to say.

Erik nodded. 'Good,'

_Good?_

'Do you know why I am here?' He asked, without moving. He was still perched, very still, on the railings. He had the balance of a cat.

Laurent nodded his head.

'Well, that makes one of us,' Erik smiled but the sight wasn't warm.

'You...' Laurent gulped in air, trying to calm himself. 'Don't know?'

'I know only what Gabriele told me,' Erik shrugged. 'That doesn't necessarily mean that much to me,'

'No?' Laurent asked.

'Don't act the fool, Laurent, it's most unbecoming of you,'

'I'm sorry,'

Erik smiled again, this time it was a little more... _human_. 'You were going to tell the police about my organisation, Laurent?'

'I knew they would tell you that,' Laurent said, slumping back against the wall to the side of the door.

Erik nodded and said nothing.

'I wasn't going to tell the police,'

'They would protect you,'

'From you?' Laurent said and, to his own surprise, he laughed.

'They would try,'

Laurent nodded. 'Shall we get to the point here?' he asked, meeting Erik's eyes and feeling the chill along his spine. 'I am too terrified of you to tell the police anything,'

'Therefore,' Erik smiled again. Laurent shivered. 'Gabriele lied,'

'But you knew that,'

Erik shrugged his shoulders casually.

'And you want the real story?' Laurent stood up straight. 'From me?'

'I already know the real story,' Erik said. 'It hit me today,'

'You know?'

Erik nodded. 'Gabriele is trying to sabotage me,'

'How did you know?'

'Well, I've never really trusted Gabriele,' Erik said. 'To me he has always been a means to end, if you like,'

Laurent nodded and waited for him to continue.

'His resentment and fear has always been obvious,' Erik looked around him, as if he didn't care, as if this was just another normal conversation. 'Lately, he's been a little different... he can't take me down alone, he knows that, so he is using his company to turn against me,'

Laurent confirmed this with a short, sharp nod of his head.

'And so he needs to bide his time, build it up, he needed a way to break me down,'

'I never understood how he was going to do that,' Laurent said quietly, his body finally steadying to a slow shake.

'Well,' Erik sighed. 'Today he found a way,'

Laurent made an 'o' with his lips but said nothing.

'I wanted to come by here and confirm that no harm will come to you,' He said. 'Not from me,'

'Thank you,'

'Live in peace, Laurent,' Erik stood from the railings. 'Gabriele will not come for you, I have not come for you... you're a free man,'

'Why are you telling me this?' Laurent asked, confused. 'Why come out of your way to tell me all of this?'

'Because I know the real reason you're in hiding,' he said. 'I'm not a fool,'

Laurent chose to stay quiet.

'You weren't going to tell the police, were you, Laurent?' Erik stepped closer. 'You were going to tell me.'

Laurent could do nothing but nod his head.

'Thank you,' Erik said. 'I'll repay you for this,'

'No need,'

'There is,' Erik turned and walked back to the railings. 'I'll be going away for a while after tonight. I need to get my mind around certain things,'

'Where are you going?'

'I'm not really sure yet,' Erik climbed onto the rail, standing on the thin metal as though it was the ground. There was no wobble, barely any movement at all. 'I'll be back and then I will deal with Gabriele, let him think he is safe... keep a low profile for a while, I might need your help,'

'Of course,'

'Oh and Laurent,' Erik said, glancing over his shoulder. 'Talk to your sister,'

With that he leapt from the balcony but Laurent heard no thump on the floor, no yelp of pain. By the time he looked over the balcony there was no sign that Erik Lambourne had ever even been there.


	37. Gravity

**A/N: Apologies for the Hiatus to those of you still with me. Most of this is written now and I will post whenever I get chance. Craving reviews.**

**I got a little disheartened with this… for many reasons but have decided to plough on regardless. **

**I hope you like these chapters. Most are unedited to get as many up today as possible. I am still in the market for a beta… I think.**

**RR **

**Sorry again.**

**Chapter 36- Gravity**

Christine's nervousness about Il Muto had subsided because she simply could not stop thinking about Erik. She had thrown him out in a fit of hurt and rage and now her anger had given way to sorrow. He played with her mind even when he was not with her, even when she could not see nor hear him, he was always there.

The costume she was wearing was very uncomfortable. Playing the pageboy meant she had to wear boyish clothing, not fitted for her shape and tugging her in. Still, she was happy that she was in the show, the pageboy was important. Carlotta had been pacing back and forth behind the stage and Christine wondered how someone with so much confidence could suddenly be so nervous. For a moment, Christine even felt sorry for her, thinking that maybe there was more to the diva than met the eye.

However, she could not even dwell on this. As quickly as her thoughts flicked to the show, to her surroundings, they shot back to Erik. It was as if he was inside her like some sort of disease. Part of her was glad that he had not apologised to her when she had confronted him, she knew that if he had, she would probably have forgiven him. Their trust was all but gone yet there was something about him that made her, in essence, weak. She could not resist him, he had a pull over her, something that kept her mind on him, something that kept her running to him.

She knew that somehow she needed to break this but her sadness at this thought was almost overwhelming.

A voice disrupted her thoughts and she was glad of the distraction. 'Are you alright?'

She smiled at Raoul, 'Yes,'

'Are you sure?' he asked, eyes on her. 'You look so very... sad,' he had searched for the word and found the exact right one.

'No,' she forced another smile in his direction. 'I'm fine,'

He frowned but let it go. 'Are you nervous?'

'A little,' she lied.

'I'm sure you'll be wonderful,'

'And silent,'

Raoul sighed, 'I'm sorry, Christine,' the light was suddenly gone from his eyes. 'If it is any consolation at all... I much prefer your voice, I think you would make the better lead but we cannot let him get the better of us,'

She nodded. 'I'm not angry,'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, I'm sure,'

He smiled but it looked like an effort. 'Have a good show, I'm sure you'll be magnificent, words or not,'

She blushed, in spite of herself, at his genuine compliment. 'I'll try,'

'No effort required,' his eyes twinkled as he leaned down and sneakily, lightly, kissed her cheek. It was the softest of touches but she felt a glow where his lips had been. As he moved away from her his smile widened. 'I'm waiting...'

She looked away.

'If anyone needs me,' he said, a little too loudly. 'I shall be in Box five,'

Gilles Andre spun around to stare at Raoul. 'Are you sure that's wise?'

Raoul grinned and shrugged his shoulders slightly. 'Well, it would appear there are no seats left except for those in Box Five,'

With that Raoul turned and walked away, down the steps and out of sight. Christine glanced at Monsieur Andre, who's eyes were slightly wider than they probably should be, slightly more moist.

'Is everything alright?' she asked, keeping her eyes on him.

He managed a nod. 'Yes, yes...' she was not convinced.

'Good...'

'Thank you, Miss Daae,' He forced a pained smile. 'Break a leg and.. er... all that,'

'You too,' She said, managing a grin.

He laughed uncomfortably. 'I'll get to my seat,'

As he disappeared she tweaked the curtain slightly and let her eyes gaze up to box five, which was occupied by a solitary figure. Raoul looked down and spotted her in the small gap, he waved his hand, and she let the curtain fall closed again.

Looking down at herself she checked that her costume was still in place, she tightened her shoe laces and took a deep breath. Erik was back in her head again and briefly she wondered if he would always haunt her.

Reyer Stepped in. 'Are we all ready?'

There were mumbles and nods all around.

'Then I will take my position,' he said, walking towards the door. 'Thirty seconds, ladies and gentlemen, good luck,'

Christine would look back at this moment and wonder why she hadn't noticed Reyer's nervousness and why she had not picked up on his wording. He had never wished them good luck before.

Luck was exactly what they needed and exactly what they did not get.

* * *

Nadir was looking at him as if he were some sort of foreign object. Erik scowled but he knew that it was only half hearted and the Persian spotted it too.

'Tell me again why you wish to travel with me,' Nadir asked, leaning against the wall to the kitchen.

'I'm not really one for repeating myself,'

Nadir shrugged. 'What's going on?'

'Nothing,'

He lifted his eyebrows, apparently, when someone has been around you for many years they seem to think that they know you. Perhaps this was true.

'I don't believe you,'

'I need to get to the show,'

Nadir moved towards him, 'Why don't we start tonight?'

'Travelling?' Erik asked, eyeing the Persian suspiciously.

'Yes,' he nodded.

'No,'

'Why not?'

'Because, Daroga, I have to attend to the show,'

'What are you going to do, Erik?' he asked, and Erik could hear the fear in the smaller mans voice. Nadir a strong man, a brave and courageous police officer, but Erik could always hear his fear. It was faint, but there.

'Nothing,

'You're lying,'

Erik did not have the energy to refute this.

'Erik, lets go tonight,'

He glared. 'No, we can't,'

'If you're not going to do anything, as you say, then why not?'

'The show,'

'I'm sure it will survive without you,'

'They have ignored me!' Erik snapped causing the smaller man to take a cautious step in the opposite direction.

'People do that sometimes, Erik, it's just the way people are,'

'Not with me,'

Nadir stayed silent for a moment and Erik wondered what he was thinking. He could barely contain his own anger, he was furious but he was not really sure what he was furious about. True, he was angry about being ignored, he was angry about Carlotta but what was it? Was he really more angry about Christine and Raoul, about her betrayal?

She had denied it, of course, but he knew what women were like. He was wrong to trust her, he should have let her go when she tore the mask from his face but his pathetic puppy dog love overcame him and he foolishly forgave her.

_No more._

He would not forgive her again.

But he loved her...

'Don't hurt anyone, Erik,' Nadir pleaded.

'I can't promise that,'

Nadir sighed loudly. 'Is there anything I can do to stop you?'

Erik stared at him for a long time, watched the sparkle in the Persian's dark eyes disappear, watched his shoulders slump, before he answered him.

'No,'

* * *

Joseph Buqet had taken to hanging around up in the rafters above the auditorium. When he wasn't working or when there was a performance on he would come up here and look around, sometimes watch the stage show, sometimes he wouldn't bother. He tried to stay as close to the side of the building as he could, on more than one occasion he had seen shadows lurking up here.

As he climbed up to watch the performance of Il Muto he realised that a certain sense of sobriety had overtaken him. He wondered when the last time he had drunk alcohol was and, to his dismay, he could not remember. Alcohol tended to wash him of the wounds of his past and now, edging into sober, he was beginning to remember.

People in the Opera Populaire often saw him as foolish or idiotic, they never imagined that he was once an intelligent and popular man, with a family he doted on and adored. So long ago. Lately he had been feeling his age. As he climbed higher he felt a little dizzy and gripped tighter to the rope his hand was holding. His legs were weary now, his bones and joints ached. Only when he drank did he ever feel like he had anything to live for.

When he was only nineteen he met the woman of his dreams, Olivia, when he was training to work in the bank. She was a customer, rather well off, and she was completely stunning. She swept him away and as if instantly, he loved her.

A year later, after a length of courting, he asked her to marry him. Her tears and yes made him the happiest man alive. Two years later their son was born and then, two years after that, their daughter.

How he had loved his family... how he _loved_ his family.

It all went wrong one day in the bank. Olivia had stopped by to bring him some lunch, she knew that he rarely ate well at work. There was a robbery, a lot of shouting, but Joseph could not remember the words that were said. The only thing he remembered was the sound of the pistol going off, the sight of his beautiful wife collapsing at his feet... blood all around her.

She died instantly, according the doctor, whatever his name was, she was shot straight through the heart, and, effectively, so was Joseph.

He struggled to cope with her loss, with little time to mourn, two children and a job, he began to slowly fall apart. First, the job went, then his resolve and finally, judged incapable of caring for his two wonderful children, they were gone too.

He had nothing left.

After this he drank and travelled a little after selling what was left of his house. There was enough money made to keep him for nearly two years on a diet of bread and beer but it didn't last, couldn't last. Eventually he had to find another job and was lucky enough to stumble upon the manager of the Opera house, who was a good, kind man, and took pity on him. He had been there ever since... he could not really remember how long that was.

When he reached the top of the rope and was standing on the planks above the stage he saw a shadow move across his field of vision. It made him jump back and nearly fall but, fortunately, he managed to grab another rope to steady himself. Heart pounding he slowly turned in a circle and looked around him. He couldn't see anything but he felt a breeze across his back.

He spun around.

There, somehow in front of him, was what looked like a man, dressed all in black except for his white mask. The hat he wore on his head cast a shadow over his face so Joseph could not see his eyes but he knew who it was. He was finally, really and truly, face to face with the ghost.

Joseph glanced over his shoulder, looking for an escape. He jumped from the beam he was on to one next to. It teetered under his feet. The Ghost jumped too, but he did not seem to mind the movement of the wood. He looked steady and calm. Joseph turned and ran in the other direction but when he glanced over his shoulder the Phantom was gone. He paused for a moment and looked around him.

No sign.

As he turned to begin to run again he was stopped short.

Somehow the ghost was in front of him. Only feet away.

Joseph jumped again.

The ghost followed.

The ghost smiled, tilted his head.

Was he _taunting_ him?

Suddenly, without warning, the stand off ended and the ghost leapt across the small gap between them. He grabbed josephs arms and threw him to the beam, so that his stomach was on it. He tried to turn but the ghost had his knees in his back.

'Yellow parchment,' He hissed. 'Indeed,'

Joseph felt the bile rise in his throat, felt the fear spread further throughout his body as he realised the hopelessness of the situation.

'Please...' he choked.

The ghost said nothing but dug his knees deeper into Josephs already weak back. Pain coursed through his fragile body and he felt the air slowly spill from his lungs.

'I didn't mean it,' He managed to breath. 'I'm sorry,'

'Too late,' His voice was so soft it was almost pleasant.

Joseph felt the rope go around his throat, he was already struggling for breath, so when the phantom tightened it, his world went black and he was left with only the thoughts of his beautiful Olivia.


	38. All I Ask Of You

**A/N: Disclaimer: I use lyrics from ALW here. Not mine, just using them for fun.**

**Chapter 37- All I Ask of You**

Box Five was dark and smelled of must. Raoul was sitting forwarded, almost leaning over the edge, watching the performance. It was obvious to him that no one had spent much time in Box Five recently, however, there were still signs of footprints in the dust. He assumed that the cleaners did not dare enter, they simply left it, and he wasn't sure that he blamed them. Something about sitting in the Box made a chill slide down his spine, made him feel completely on edge. He liked to think of himself as brave but he wasn't feeling it that night.

He could see Christine just behind the drapes of the bed on stage. She was sitting with Carlotta, waiting for their cue. Raoul lifted his eyes up and around, he scanned the ceiling, the stage, the doors, the floor, the audience.

Nothing looked unusual.

Perhaps this ghost was all talk after all.

He tried to settle in, tried to relax, tried to enjoy the opera, but it was niggling at him, making him nervous. Every few seconds he found himself looking around, his pulse was certainly quicker and his breath seemed shallow. Was it him or was there an atmosphere?

He glanced over at the opposite box and Richard Firmin looked up nervously but Gilles smiled and waved, in his usual jovial manner. Raoul forced himself to wave back and then he returned his focus to the stage. Two of the cast members who played Carlotta's maid and servant were singing about how she was making a fool of her husband by having it away, as it were, with the pageboy.

When the curtain slid back Christine and Carlotta gave the audience the impression that they were kissing passionately. When Carlotta stood she flounced to the front of the stage, closely followed by a more subdued pageboy, his Christine. There was a knock at the door on stage and in entered Piangi, who was playing her husband.

Conversation ensued and then, with a swing of the cape he was wearing, he exited the stage.

'Poor Fool...' She began to sing. 'He makes me laugh, _haha_, time to a better, better half,'

Raoul watched and was pleased with the performance. So far everything was going well, no hitches, no mistakes, no ghost...

The chorus began to sing around her, making a mockery of the Counts foolishness, there was a little dancing, not much, but to Carlotta's credit, she commanded the stage.

Then it all went horribly wrong.

The voice boomed out around them, as it had in the lobby, and Raoul leapt to his feet.

'Did I not instruct that Box Five was the be left empty?' It was the same voice, the same man, the infamous Phantom.

Raoul frantically looked around him, up and down, but he saw nothing but the confused faces of the audience members. They, too, were looking around them. Raoul leaned over the edge of the box again and looked down at the stage.

Reyer looked terrified.

'He's here,' he heard as he looked around.

Christine's eyes were wide. 'It's him...'

As she said this Carlotta spun around and faced her, 'Your part is silent!' She said, rather too loudly. 'Little toad,'

The voice came back, quieter, calmer, 'A toad, Madame?' There was a softness to his tone, something that chilled Raoul's heart. 'Perhaps it is _you_... who are the toad...'

Raoul watched as Carlotta shrugged off the insult and attempted to continue with the performance. Reyer, looking uncomfortable, followed and started the orchestra again.

'You cannot speak but kiss me in my...' Her hands flew to her throat and she clutched it, seemingly struggling for breath. She tried again but the words came out as a curdling croak. Looking confused she regained her composure, shooting a sideways glance at Christine, she continued, 'Poor fool he makes me laugh ha _ha_... uh... ah...' The words began to croak again and she grabbed her throat again, rubbing it, trying to make the sound come out normally.

She sounded like a frog... or, rather, a toad.

As she struggled the sound of laughter filled the auditorium, the Phantom's cruel and hard laughter, soared around them.

Carlotta dropped her head, staring at the floor. _'Mother_...'

It was then that Richard and Gilles ran onto the strange, the curtains flew behind them, closing the view of the cast off.

'Ladies and gentleman,' Richard coughed and glanced at the other manager, whose eyes were wide. 'We er... we apologise... the performance will begin again after a short recess...'

Gilles nodded. 'Yes, when the part of the Countess will be played by Miss Christine Daae,'

Firmin looked down at Reyer who nodded.

It was Gilles who spoke 'For now though, the ballet from Act three I think... shall we, Maestro?'

As the two managers walked from the stage, the dancers all came on to the sound of the orchestra played. Their shadows bounced on the backdrop as they spun around each other, calming the audience and putting them back in their seats.

Raoul, at least for the moment, decided to stay where he was to see if he could spot the phantom or anything that looked unusual. They were dealing with someone very intelligent and incredibly resourceful.

As the music below became to build to crescendo Raoul spotted something on the curtain that made his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. There was a shadow, not one of the dancers, darting back and forth and then disappearing. It was a distinctly male looking shadow, tall and wearing what could have been a cloak and hat. Suddenly, the shadow began to get bigger, some people in the crowd gasped, some stood and began to leave.

And then... the room was dark.

Raoul wasn't sure quite how he did it but the room plunged into blackness, with no delay and no hesitation, when the lights came back up, people were stood still, confused and looking around them.

He heard someone underneath the box ask what the hell was going on.

For a moment, Raoul did not think anything could possibly get worse. The show had been destroyed, the audience looked terrified, and the cast were too scared to move.

However, he was wrong.

As he stood there, trying to figure out what to do next, the lights dipped again and when they relit there was an almighty crashing noise. From above the stage something fell and then bounced on the rope that was holding it up.

Raoul looked in horror as he, and everyone in the theatre, realised what it was.

It was the hanging body of Joseph Buquet.

'Oh Jesus...' He gasped, before sprinting out of the door.

* * *

Joseph's head was lolled sideways, blood dripped from the wound around his neck, and his body convulsed slightly, but it was clear that he was dead. Christine, though horrified, simply could not take her eyes away from the dead body. People were running all around her and she could feel her hands shaking, her palms sweating, but she could not move.

She was aware of the panic, aware of the screaming and fainting, but her feet remained, quite firmly, planted to the floor.

'Christine...'

She managed to look away. 'Madame Giry...' She could barely get the words out.

'Come away, child,'

'He did this,'

Madame Giry looked at her but said nothing. She did not need to. They both knew it. Before she knew what was happening Madame Giry's fingers had curled around her arm and pulled her behind the curtains, making sure that the body was out of sight.

'Christine!' Raoul's voice pierced through the chaos and found her ears. It was a welcome sound, a comforting sound, and suddenly, she was glad he was there.

She turned to face him and he ran to her, pulling her into his arms and holding her tight.

'I told you...' She whispered.

She felt him nod. 'I know,'

'We're not safe here,' She whispered, letting go of him and pulling away.

He looked at her.

She remembered what Meg had said to her all of those months ago. 'The roof,'

Raoul frowned at her.

'We need to go to the roof,' she repeated, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the corridor and then into the stair well.

'Where are we going?' he asked.

'Roof,' Was all she could managed as she dragged him higher and higher, as fast as she could.

When they arrived she let the door slam shut behind them and looked at Raoul's ashen face.

'What is going on?' He asked. 'Why have you brought me here?'

'We're safer here,' she gasped, catching her breath, feeling the fear flow through her veins. 'He doesn't come up here, it is too exposed for him,'

Raoul nodded and looked around him. 'We can't stay up here,'

'I need to...'

'We have to go back down, see if we can help,'

She looked at him. 'It's you...'

'What's me?'

'You're the reason... you're the reason he's doing this,' The realisation hit her hard, their conversation..._You and Raoul De Chagny_... 'He thinks we're courting,'

'We're not,' He stated the obvious.

'I know but he doesn't,' she placed her hand on her heart. 'He's angry with me, he's angry with you... jealous,'

'Are you courting him?' Raoul asked sharply.

She shook her head. 'He loves me,'

'And you him?'

She looked at him. 'He'll kill you if you go back,'

'He'll have a fight on his hands...'

She shook his words off. 'Raoul, he'll find us and he will kill you,' She said firmly.

'Christine...'

'His eyes will find us Raoul,' She shook her head,. 'Those burning eyes, they'll find us,'

'Don't even think that...'

'If he has to kill a thousand men...'

Raoul took her by the arms. 'Stop, forget this, it's a nightmare, it won't happen, I won't let it,'

'He will kill...'

'Christine,' he pleased. 'The Phantom is a fable,'

'You saw what he did tonight,' She said, her heart hammering in her chest. 'He will kill and kill and kill again,'

She felt sick, her stomach churned and her head was spinning. Raoul's face was confused but she did not care, she knew all too well what was going on, she had seen what he could do. The rumours, she knew, were all true.

'There is no Phantom of the Opera,' Raoul said softly, looking into her eyes.

'Oh God...' she murmured.

'Who is this man...' He frowned. 'The mask of death.'

'I can't escape from him,' She felt dazed, her body was weak, as if her legs could no longer hold her weight. 'I don't think I ever will,'

'There is no Phantom of the Opera,' Raoul said forcefully.

She managed to move away from him and walk to the wall at the edge of the roof. 'Raoul, I've been there, with him, I know he is real,'

Raoul said nothing but she felt him move closer to him. She wanted to pull away, to save both of them, but another part of her longed to be held, to be comforted.

'He lives in a world of unending night, so dark, so lonely,' She continued, swallowing back the lump in her throat. 'It's as if the daylight dissolves into it and there is nothing but darkness... and I have seen him Raoul, I have seen his face,'

Raoul's hand was on her shoulder but she found the strength to shrug it off, to move away from him.

'I don't think I will ever forget it,' She leaned against the wall. 'It was distorted, badly deformed yet... his voice, that voice...'

'What?' Raoul asked softly.

'His voice filled my whole body, my soul, lifted my spirit to heights I didn't know existed,' She turned to face Raoul.

'His voice is a dream,'

'No,' She snapped. 'No, his voice is heaven, not a dream. But his eyes... God, all the sadness of world in those eyes,'

Raoul stared.

'He has pleading eyes,' She said. 'They change colour, they are always so sad yet they can be threatening, frightening... but also, sometimes, so _adoring_...'

She stood, tears in her eyes.

'Christine...' She felt Raoul's hands on her shoulders again and this time, she did not move away. 'Christine...'

The breeze blew by and she was sure, as she felt the cool tingle on her spine, that she heard his voice echo Raoul's, _'Christine_...'

She looked around her.

Nothing.

She was even imagining his voice now.

'Christine...' Raoul repeated, pulling her from her trance. She looked at him, his soft eyes filled with concern. 'Forget this,'

'I...'

'No more talk of darkness, forget these wide eyes fears,' He said, taking her hands in his. 'I'm with you, I'm here and I won't let anything hurt you... _nothing_,'

She blinked, could barely breath.

'Let my words calm you, Christine, just listen,' He was speaking to her softly, so gently she felt as though she could rest in his voice. 'I'm always right beside you, no matter where you are, no matter what you're doing, I will take care of you,'

'I don't know what to do, Raoul,'

'Stay with me, Christine,' His eyes were so earnest, so caring, so _not_ Erik...

'I'm lost...'

He nodded, touched her face with his fingertips. 'I know,' He said softly. 'Let me take care of you, I'll look after you, I promise,'

There was something in his voice that made her pause, something there that made her sure- very sure- that this was the right thing for her. The softness, the way he was being gentle, careful, the way he obviously cared.

'You've been so alone, Christine,' His hand touched her hair tentatively. 'Let me bring you back, let me lead you from the solitude you've created. I can help you,'

Christine felt herself nod.

'I love you,' He said. 'I've always loved you,'

She knew.

'I love you too,' She managed, though a tear escaped her eye. She felt guilt tear through her soul and she wondered why.

'Promise?' he asked, leaning down to look deep into her eyes.

She stared back. 'Yes,' She meant it, she did love him, she loved him the moment they met. Raoul De Changy had always been the boy and man of her dreams.

_Yet..._

'Ill never let anything or anyone hurt you,' He meant it, she could see that he did. She believed him, trusted him, wanted to be around him, felt safe with him.

Safety.

'Say you'll be everything, Raoul,' She said, looking at him, unable to take her eyes off him. 'Tell me... say you love me, tell me again, say you'll shelter me and protect me and be everything I need,'

He nodded, pulling her into his arms. They were warm.

'I will,' He whispered into her hair. 'I love you, I'll protect you and shelter you and bring you back from this dark place, I will care for you and make sure that your fears are all far behind you,'

'I need this,' She said, half to herself. 'I need your warmth,'

'Christine,' He murmured, his arms still tight around her body. 'I love you,'

She pulled away a little so that she could, once again, see the gentle sparkle of his eyes. He leaned in gingerly and touched his lips to hers. She felt her lips tingle when the embrace ended.

'Love me,' He said to her. 'That's all I ask of you,'

She nodded. 'I'll go anywhere with you,'

She said it, meant it even, but somehow not all of her heart was in it. She still felt the hurt, the pain, the memories...

'Get your horses,' She had found some resolve, made her decision. 'I will be with you and I will love you,'

His smile was soft, delicate, almost as little fragile.

'I'll meet you at the gates,' She followed him through the door to the rooftop and down the steps. When they reached the bottom he kissed her again, more passionately this time.

'Wait for me Raoul,'

And then they went their separate ways


	39. She's Like the Wind

**A/N: I found myself oddly drawn to this dong:**

'_She rides the night,_

_Next to me,_

_She leads me through Moonlight,_

_Only to burn me with the sun,_

_She's taken my heart and she doesn't know what she's done,'_

- She's Like the Wind by Patrick Swayze.

**Chapter 38- She's Like the Wind**

The wind whistled around his body and, at the moment, the night seemed very cold. Erik stepped out from behind the gargoyle and onto the rooftop, he looked down at their footprints in the dust, and then let his eyes stare at the door as if Christine was still there.

It was a fallacy that Erik never came to the roof.

He often hid up there, behind one of the many statues, and looked out over the city that would always be just out of his reach. Sometimes, when he thought he was alone, he would see Meg Giry sitting in the corner looking lonely. On more than one occasion he had considered talking to her but, he knew, she would run away scared.

Erik was the Phantom of the Opera and that made him the enemy.

He was not a good man, there was no denying it, he could not even convince himself. Somehow, though, he cared for Meg. Perhaps it was that she was Antoinette's baby, her only child, something that his friend loved more than Erik, more than herself. Maybe it was that Meg, though sometimes a little irrational, was an intelligent young woman. Or maybe, just maybe, it was that sometimes he saw himself in little Meg Giry.

Sometimes, when he saw her on the rooftop, he thought he knew more about her than anyone because when he did see her, she was his own reflection. Though she tried hard to be social, a person able to get on with anyone, and when she was around other people she was jovial and pleasant, up here, on this rooftop, she was sullen and lonely.

Erik took another look at the door and felt the destructive sensation of his heart crumbling. There was a pain in his chest like no other he had ever felt before. He walked to the edge of the roof and glanced over the wall, at the floor below, he could not fly. There were flickers of light around the city, Paris was always alive at this time of night.

If only the feeling would extend to him.

His fears had been confirmed. Christine was in love with Raoul and now, Erik's new world was gone. Slowly he would go back to being the man he was before, the man before Christine Daae. The cellars of the opera house would lose their appeal now, without her smell, without her presence. He did not take her there often but when he did he felt free.

She had seen his face and known the worst of him and yet somehow she seemed to care anyway.

_It was all a lie_.

She cared about Raoul De Chagny, not about Erik, and that hurt.

It was strange to him that his mind could not seem to stay on one thing. In a flash his brain focused on Christine, on her face, on her eyes... on the way she looked at him, on the way her smile could make his muscles weak.

In the next instant he was back on the roof, seeing her with Raoul, watching her declare her love for that boy. In that moment his heart was crushed and all of his ideals gone again. Erik Lambourne would never be a normal man, with a normal life, no matter how desperately he longed for it.

In his life he had loved only two woman. The first he had driven away with his need for solitude and the second... _Christine_...

He clutched at his heart, the glove on his hand doing nothing to warm his skin. A wave of pain rolled through his veins, crashed at his heart, poured into his soul. He felt a stabbing pain in his chest and stumbled back to the statue.

That was when his cheeks began to feel wet. He took a glove off his hand and stuffed it into his pocket. With his fingertips he reached up and wiped a tear from his cheek and then stared at it nestled on his skin. He shook his head and then his hand, making the tear fall and then splash on the floor.

Erik could not remember the last time he had cried.

His head dropped and he was staring at the floor, tears falling from his cheeks. His chest felt swollen with a pain so bad he thought that it might burst. A sob escaped him.

'Christine...' He murmured, head pounding, unable to concentrate on anything.

Her happy face, her smiling, beautiful face was seeping from his mind and the demons of the night were replacing it. Suddenly, all he could hear were their words, her betrayal.

Raoul's _I love you..._ Christine's heartbreaking_, I love you too_.

His legs felt unable to bear his weight as they buckled beneath him and he dropped to his knees, hands on the floor, crouched on all fours, crying. No pain was like this.

It tore through him again, another tide of anguish, and he let out another pained sob. The air caught in his throat, he could barely breath, his heart was gone. He would never get it back.

The despair that clung to him was instant and suffocating, he felt claustrophobic and heavy, as though he could not move if he tried. Her betrayal now dug into his soul ,nestling itself in his mind, in he could see. Through everything the mist of tears he glanced up at the dark sky as it began to rain, one spot and then another, until it poured down around him.

The stars were gone and had been replaced with black clouds, darkening the night further, hiding the glowing moon. His heart ached but he pushed himself up, a different feeling taking over his body now. The hurt would not go, even in inexperience, Erik knew this, but he could channel it, make it become something else.

There was a burn in his veins as he pushed himself back to his feet, he was still crying, there were still drips of salty water falling onto his shoulders, but as it mixed with the rain he came to many conclusions.

He stood and looked around him, slipped the black glove back onto his hand. His fingers were cold but suddenly, that did not bother him.

He smoothed his hair back, neatened his jacket and headed to the trap door at the back of the roof. 'He was bound to love you... when he heard you sing,' He shook his head. _'Christine_...'

The feelings of hurt were all around him but anger quickly crawled into his senses, slid along his veins, moved through his body until it was flooded with rage. The trapdoor opened easily and he jumped into the hole, closing it behind him. He navigated the thin corridor, letting his fury build and doing nothing to stop it, until he reached the set of steps he had created just above the auditorium.

He looked around him, thought of Christine, thought of Raoul...

He plunged into the blackness.

* * *

The chaos has not subsided in the slightest as Monsieur Firmin did his best to calm the theatre audience. So far he had taken complimentary drinks and some snacks around to the horrified guests. The police, who had just arrived, had insisted that all of the audience members remain in their seats as witnesses. That had been nearly an hour ago.

Monsieur Andre was running around like some sort of headless chicken but Antoinette Giry remained calm. She stood beside the stage watching the commotion and wondering just how stupid people could be. Certainly, she had seen extraordinary feats of idiocy but tonight was, all in all, taking the proverbial biscuit. She could hardly believe her eyes as, instead of searching the premises for the perpetrator, the police had decided to interview grief stricken cast members.

Of course, Antoinette knew that they would never find Erik, she knew him too well for that. If he was not long gone he was probably very well hidden. Erik definitely knew how to cross the lines of sanity yet it was always done in what, to her, seemed a controlled madness. Nothing about him could be predicted or attributed to a mood, he was a truly frightening man.

She looked around her, wondering if he had gone, but she saw nothing of a clue. Part of her assumed he was still there, watching with some amusement... the other part of her had seen Christine with Raoul.

Erik might already be gone.

'Good God!' She heard and spun around to see the source of the familiar voice. Scott ran in and threw his arms around her, complete disregard for anything around them.

For once, she found this oddly comforting.

He was warm.

'What on earth happened?' He asked, pulling away slightly.

She half shrugged. 'None of us really know,'

'I'm just glad you're alright,'

She smiled. 'Thank you for coming,'

He nodded and kissed her cheek. 'Where is Meg?'

'She's fine,' Antoinette answered. 'She's with the police at the moment,'

'They wouldn't let me in,'

'There's been a murder,'

'Is this definitely murder then?' He asked, pulling her back into his strong embrace.

'I'd say so,'

'This Phantom?' He asked.

'I don't know,' She lied.

He moved away to look around him. There were people sitting down, looking stunned, some were crying with each other. Antoinette assumed that this reaction was the shock of everything. She felt some sympathy for the audience, after all, they had only come to see the opera but had been treated to a show of a far more sinister nature.

They were all currently sitting in a living nightmare.

As she looked around she could easily see the different types of people in the room. Some of the men, particularly the younger ones, covered their fear by showing outrage at being stuck here. They would verbally attack anyone with a look of authority and so Antoinette, not in the mood for the confrontation, stayed away. Some of the men, older generally, just looked terribly bored with it all, as if they had seen this a thousand times.

Perhaps some of them had.

The women dotted around the room varied from utterly shocked to completely hysterical. Antoinette thought that, had she not known what was going on, she would have understood this reaction.

The police had, at least, drawn a curtain across the front of the body, sparing people from the sight. Slowly, some uniformed officers were making their way around the room, interviewing the guests. After an interview was completed they gave them a signed piece of paper to give to the guard on the door and then they were allowed to leave.

There were over a thousand people in the theatre.

It was a moment before she realised that Scott's eyes were on her.

'Are you sure you're alright?' He asked.

She nodded. 'I'm just wondering why the police insist on taking everyone's statements here,'

'Instead of allowing them to leave their details and return home?' He asked.

Again, she answered with a nod.

'Perhaps they're hoping to get the information while it is still clear in their minds,'

'Perhaps,' She said. 'But no one saw anything,'

'No?'

She shook her head.

'Did you?' He asked.

'No,'

He sighed. 'But you have to remain here as well?'

'Unfortunately,'

He glanced down at her leg. 'Do you need me to get you a chair from somewhere?'

'It doesn't feel too bad tonight,' she managed a smile.

'Did you know him well?' Scott scanned the room again. His eyes stopped at the stage. 'The murder victim,'

'Not really, he's worked here for years but no one really knows him at all,'

'Someone thought they knew him well enough to deem him worthy of murder,'

She nodded her agreement, knowing Erik's feelings about Joseph.

'Did he have family?' Scott's voice was a little strained now and she knew he was thinking of Meg, of her, of leaving them alone.

'I don't know,' She was shaking her head when she noticed Gilles Andre and Richard Firmin step onto the stage.

Scott nudged her. 'New managers?'

'Yes,' Her eyes were fixed on them now.

'Excuse me,' Monsieur Firmin said, not loudly enough, the rumbles around the room continued.

Andre stepped towards the front of the stage. 'Ladies and Gentlemen!' he shouted.

The mumbling began to quiet and all eyes were back to the stage.

'We're terribly sorry about the unfortunate events of this evening,' His voice floated around the room. 'We will be refunding...' He paused as if to catch his breath. '... everyone's ticket price for the evening,'

'Yes, yes,' Monsieur Firmin nodded. 'The police are going to ask everyone to leave their names and addresses and then you can all go,'

'This awful situation will not happen again,' Andre took over. 'We an assure you that the perpetrator will be caught and that he will never be allowed to set foot in this theatre again!'

Antoinette was about to turn away when she heard the sound of a chuckle. Erik. So he was still here after all. Her eyes scanned the room for any sign on him but she saw nothing. The police were looking around too, as the laughter built and filled the room.

When she spotted him all she could do was scream to Meg to get away from the stage. Some people began to run but they had no idea what they were running from. Erik was standing on top of the chandelier, holding it's ropes. Suddenly Erik leapt up and grabbed the rope higher and then the chandelier began to plummet to the floor. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Antoinette watched as people scattered in all directions, running back and forth and not really knowing where to go.

She felt Scott's hand grip her wrist and pull her to the back of the room, closely follow by Meg. In this time the managers had fled the stage and the chandelier, with a crashing sound that echoed even in the chaos, hit the stage, splitting the boards and catching someone underneath it.

Meg buried her face into her father's broad shoulder and he circled his arm around her. His eyes were wide and disbelieving. He reached over and pulled Antoinette into his embrace with his free arm. People were screaming again and there was a rush to the exits. The police had lost all control and the madness that ensued was hard to breath in.

_Oh Erik_... she thought, as she looked at the stage, at the person crushed beneath the huge weight of the once magnificent chandelier. Philippe De Chagny was standing with the managers, all three men had their heads in their hands, looking full of despair.

Antoinette looked up to where the chandelier had once been but there was no sign of Erik.

She wondered how long that would last.


	40. So Far Away

**A/N: I said in some of the review replies that these next couple of chapters are sort of filler chapters. I'm going to cover the 6 months Erik is gone in 2 chapters. I was tempted to do more but was afraid the length of this would get completely out of hand. **

**Saying that, there are some important pieces of information in these chapters. I can only apologise if they seem a little rushed, I promise, the others aren't like this. **

**The story, after these chapters, will continue in much the same vain as the play though my tweaks will certainly be there. It is later where I start to impose my own plot on it more (though you will see the side plot coming through more and more over even the next two chapters).**

**Thank you to all those I could not reply to for one reason or another. To those who read and do not review- thank you for sticking with it.**

**Chapters are largely unedited, as I explained before, I have written an awful lot of this and not updated regularly enough. Forgive any mistakes and if you want to email and point the glaring ones out to me, that's fine, I will try to find time to go back and correct them.**

**Anyway…**

**Onward.**

**Chapter 39- So Far Away**

The theatre had been closed for just over a month when Antoinette finally made the decision. Two people had died on the night the chandelier fell at the Opera Populair. A young woman who was visiting Paris for the first time and Joseph Buquet who, Antoinette recently learned, had had a difficult life. The police had put both down to murder and issued a warrant for the infamous Phantom of the Opera.

There were four people in the world who knew who that was.

Erik himself, Christine, Nadir and Antoinette.

None of them had come forward with any evidence and Antoinette was positive that that would be the way it remained. So far there had been no sign of him in or around the Opera House. Nadir had also disappeared, leading her to assume that wherever they were, the two friends were together.

They had more in common than either of them would even admit. Erik was a killer and so was Nadir. His work with the police had not always been as clean as he would like people to believe, although, deep down he was never a bad officer or leader. He had killed in the line of duty, even when it had been seen as unnecessary.

_Justice._

Nadir, like Erik, had a way of putting things in their own little boxes. He could use his mind to separate things and rationalise. Nadir knew that murder and killing was wrong, as Erik did, but he also understood its occasional necessity.

The Persian also knew what it was like to be completely alone. When his town had been ripped apart in civil war he had been forced, as a police officer, to go on the run. He had left his family behind and vowed to keep himself safe. He has thought of his own person and no one else. A selfishness he and Erik shared to the hilt.

Antoinette was sure that this came from the years of torture both men had been subjected to. Both of them saw physical and mental pain. Neither of them wanted to feel it again.

The _differences_ in the two men were simple.

Nadir had the ability to move on. For the most part he had managed to leave his past behind and started a fresh life, travelling and enjoying the freedom he had. Erik could not do this. Erik could not forgive. Erik allowed himself to murder because this was how he stayed in control. Erik allowed himself to speak coldly, to not feel.

Nadir could not do this.

Nadir was warm and kind.

Perhaps they would be good for each other for a while.

She knocked on the door and waited, quietly, for a response.

When Laurent pulled it open and looked out his face was covered with surprise.

'Hello,' he said, stepping aside and allowing her to move past him into the room. He closed the door behind them.

Antoinette noted that he kept the room tidy. She would not allow the maids to work in there.

'I'm a little late,' she sat down and looked up at him.

He did not look the way she remembered him. The last time she had seen him properly he had been a teenager, tall but a little on the slim side. Now, as a man, his shoulders were wide and bulky, his face looked older than it should, he had scars but his hair was still their father's fair blonde.

He was staring back at her, his eyes did not contain the softness, the kindness, she remembered. 'You're not late,'

'You could be gone by now,'

'Something convinced me to stay,'

She nodded and looked around her, feeling a little uncomfortable.

'I love you, Antoinette,' His voice was so soft she wondered whether or not she had heard him correctly. When she looked back at him she knew that she had.

'You've done many dreadful things,'

It was Laurent who nodded this time. 'I know,'

'Why?'

There was a pause before he spoke, 'I needed my own life,' he took a seat in the chair opposite the bed.

'Was it the life you wanted?' she asked.

'No,'

'Then why not leave?'

'It was all I knew,'

She shook her head, feeling bile in her throat. 'You knew kindness and love, Laurent,'

He stared at her.

'You knew that _here_,'

'I was no longer welcome here,'

'Do you think that was unreasonable?' she was trying to stay calm, but it was difficult, all of the anger, all of the resentment, it was still there.

'No,' he shook his head. 'No, not at all. What I did was unforgivable,'

She smiled, in spite of herself. 'But somehow Scott forgave you,'

'Yes,' he whispered, shame clouded his eyes. Perhaps she had been wrong, maybe he really was sorry.

'You can stay here,' she said, keeping her eyes on him. She knew that Scott had already told Laurent that he could stay but she knew that she needed to tell him herself. To make it clear that now she was fine with it. 'You're welcome to eat dinner with us but you must keep your room clean, the maids will not be coming in here,'

'Thank you,'

A silence formed in the room, closing in around them, the atmosphere dipped, the room was colder. Her eyes were fixed on him, intense and she watched as he flinched away, unable to meet her gaze.

'I can't forgive you,' she said to him, finally breaking the quiet.

His Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

'I'm sorry,'

'I don't expect you to,'

She nodded. 'It doesn't mean that I have to be angry with you anymore,'

His eyes were moist but no tears spilled from them. 'What can I do?'

'You need to make me understand what happened that night,' She felt a pang in her chest at the memory. 'Why did you let her die?'

'Fear,' The word was a pained choke.

'How do you think she felt?'

He looked down at the floor. 'I had to go...'

'Why?'

'I knew I could never come home,'

She felt a lump in her throat, felt her chest ache. 'If you had tried to save her...'

'And failed?' His head shot back up and he was staring at her. 'If I failed she would still be dead… I would still have killed her!'

'In time, Laurent, I could have forgiven you that,' she whispered. 'We all make mistakes,'

He shook his head. 'No, you would not have forgiven that either,'

'You don't know me,' She said.

'No, I don't suppose I do,'

'I would have forgiven you,' she reached out to him, let her hand rest on his. 'You should never have left her,'

'She wasn't supposed to be there,' Tears welled in his eyes.

She nodded.

'It was just...' he let his head drop again. 'She never should have been there,'

'Gabriele is a wicked man,'

He laughed. 'Yes,' his smile was weak. 'I've certainly met better men… saying that, I've known better men who could kill with more ease,'

She sighed. 'Me too,'

'We've seen things, Nette,' he said softly. 'In our lives we've seen things, lots of things we should never have seen but...'

Laurent's voice faded, and when he did continue, she said, 'Tell me,'

'The man... there's a man I know,' he looked at her, she nodded for him to continue. 'He is the coldest of them all, colder than any other I have ever met,'

She waited.

'I've seen him murder someone with his bare hands,' Laurent made a movements with his arms. 'Like they were twig, like they were nothing,'

'Who?' she asked the question but had a horrible sense of foreboding, something filling her veins.

'I don't...' he paused. 'He frightens me but... he isn't like Gabriele he isn't... _evil_...'

She tilted her head, waiting, listening.

_'Jesus_, I'm so afraid of him it's ridiculous, he has eyes that are so sharp, so piercing, so full of... _of_... ' Laurent shook his head. 'I mean he's tall, but not huge and the weird thing is that he wears this white mask but...' He laughed, almost bitterly. 'He scares me more than anything, more than the police more than Gabriele... and what is more frightening... I actually _like _him,'

'Erik...' she whispered.

He jumped to his feet and stared down at her. 'You know of him?'

'Yes,'

'You _know_ him?'

She nodded slowly.

'Is he your friend?' he was frowning.

'We were friends a long time ago, yes,'

They stared at each other for a moment.

Antoinette's stomach turned. 'How do _you_ know him?'

'He used to fund Gabriele,'

She felt her heart drop.

'Well,' Laurent walked to the window. 'He still does, in a way, but he told me he was going away,'

She waited for a moment, debating the way this might turn out, arguing with her own mind. When she looked up, she felt tears in her eyes. The hurt of years gone by, the rift in her marriage, the pain of her brother... of Erik.

'I have something to tell you,'

* * *

Christine was being officially courted. It was all really quite a strange phenomenon to her. Raoul would appear at her door at a pre arranged time with an older woman, who would act as their escort. Raoul had told her that they were going to do things properly. Christine had smiled and told him properly meant that she took her own chaperone, he had laughed and told her he secretly feared Madame Giry.

Christine had not seen nor heard from Erik in more than three chaotic months. Summer was now long gone and Autumn too was beginning to fade out. It appeared that winter was coming early. The Opera Populaire had opened back up just over a month ago and they had opened with 'Faust' instead of  
continuing, the now commonly referred to as ill fated, 'Il Muto'.

Christine was playing bit parts which she was more than happy with and the general feel in the theatre had been tense. Still, there was no sign of the ghost. No sightings of Erik. It was a slow process, she knew this, but people were starting to relax all around her.

She found that she felt very happy around Raoul. Their relationship was sweet, covered in all that was good and true, they had an ease about them. It had been such a smooth transition for them, from friend to couple, and she felt so comfortable with it that it worried her.

_She was happy._

So why was she thinking about Erik?

Natural, she thought, everyone was thinking about him... even if they did not _know_ it.

'Welcome back,' Raoul said when she blinked out of her thoughts.

'Sorry,' she felt the blush in her cheeks.

'It's quite alright,' he said, taking her hand in his. The chaperone, Mrs Leroux, glared at him but he chose to ignore her. They all knew that the gesture was fairly harmless, she was simply making her presence known. 'What were you thinking?'

'Not much,' she smiled. 'Just how much the theatre is changing,'

He nodded. 'Not for the worse though, I must say,'

Did she agree?

She nodded back.

'How do you feel about your role in the new opera?' he asked, as they walked.

'I like it,'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes,' she said. 'And if I wasn't sure, it wouldn't matter,'

'I could see what I can do?' he lifted his eyebrows.

'I don't want any help,' she said defensively. 'I remember where that got everyone last time... no... I'm more than happy with my role,'

'You're good in anything,' he said, with a sly wink. She looked away and felt a heat in her chest.

Mrs Leroux gave them a hard look.

As they strolled down along the road they met with the park and stepped onto it's path, following it's curve around the fields and woodland. There was something inherently romantic about this area of Paris, it had remained fresh and clean and natural, no one had tried to build their homes here and it was often a quiet place for reflection. Off the park, on the other side, there were particularly old houses and little shops, ones she and Raoul would often just browse in.

'It's a beautiful day,' he commented as they entered another small section woodland. It was true, the sun was out but clouds occasionally drifted over, yet it was cold and the leaves were turning their colour.

'Yes,' she nodded.

'You're quiet today,' He was looking at her.

'Sorry,' She seemed to apologise a lot lately. She felt so responsible for everything and everyone.

On the first and last night of Il Muto she had defied Erik, undoubtedly causing Buquet's death, then she had declared her love for Raoul and watched helplessly from the back door as the chandelier killed a young woman. She knew, though Raoul told her otherwise, that it was all her fault.

As hard as she tried not to let it, the thoughts tormented her and tortured her, she had been responsible for the death of two people.

'Are you thinking about that night again?' he didn't sound irritated, just concerned.

She nodded.

'Christine,' His voice was soft, he was trying to comfort her. 'Stop. There was nothing you could do,'

'I should have seen it coming,'

'How were you to know that he would do that?'

She stood still and turned to face him. 'He warned us,'

'A disaster beyond your imagination?' Raoul scoffed. 'That isn't a warning,'

'I think it is, Raoul,' she felt a pull in her chest. 'Because it was a disaster, wasn't it?'

'Why blame yourself?'

'He was in love with me and I...'

He raised his eyebrows. 'You what?'

'Betrayed him,'

'Don't be foolish,' he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She was made very aware of the presence of Mrs Leroux to her right.

'Don't call me foolish, Raoul,'

'I'm sorry,'

She shook her head.

'I didn't mean it to sound that way,' he rubbed her arm. 'You must understand that the man, whoever he is, is completely insane. Nothing you did or could have done would have changed what happened that night,'

'If only you know,' she murmured, as she looked away from him.

He reached out and turned her face with his fingertips. His touch was warm and comforting, she was drawn to it. 'What don't I know?'

'He loved me,'

'_I_ love you,'

'I know,'

'And I wouldn't kill people if you rejected me,'

She sighed. Had she rejected him? 'But would you kill to defend me?'

He paused, the silence drifting around them. In the distance she heard a bird and she tried to get her mind to focus on that, on the sweet sound of the bird singing. It was no use. Her thoughts, as with her dreams, were fixed onto Erik and the opera and all the nights that had passed before and between.

'I would kill to defend you,'

'Then you are more like him than you know,' Christine said, a little too sharply, and continued to walk. Raoul did not catch up to her for a long moment, in which she felt a sudden relax in her mood. When he caught up his eyes were filled with sadness.

'I'm sorry if I hurt you,' he began. 'But I need you to know how much I love you, how much I care for you, how much I would do anything in my power to protect you,'

'I know, Raoul,'

'I hate to see you upset, Christine, it hurts me,'

She blinked. 'I'm sorry,'

'Stop saying that,' he reached out for her hands. 'You have nothing to be sorry for,'

'I have a lot of be sorry for,'


	41. Different Beat

**A/N: I lied, there are 3 filler chapters.**

**Chapter 40- Different Beat**

Gabriele Aiton paced back and forth along the front of his living room. He was feeling somewhat disturbed.

'It's been quiet,' he said, to no one and everyone. Only Louis was with him.

Louis looked up from the paper he was reading. 'Yes,' was all he said before turning his attention back to the news article.

Gabriele's plan had worked to a certain extent. Erik Lambourne had certainly gone off the rails, however, he had not really gone off the rails the way that Gabriele had anticipated. Or hoped. Now he was stuck with a serious dilemma. It had come to his attention, nearly a year before, that they he needed to do something to get rid of Erik but, at the same time, he needed to keep the older man's money. The only way he figured that this was at all possible was to make him hand it over and then kill him.  
_  
Easier said than done.  
_  
Erik Lambourne was a predator and did not turn to prey very easily.

This had become a problem and Gabriele was more than aware that there was no way he would ever bring Erik down on his own. He was too strong, too powerful and far too intelligent. Erik was a man who was more pleased with night than day, even seemed to see better when it was dark.

When Louis had told him about young Daae he knew that he could throw a spanner in the mechanism of Erik's usually controlled demeanour. It had worked. The man had gone completely insane but he had not turned to the company, nor had he turned to Gabriele... he had simply gone crazy. Now Erik was gone, a bonus, but Gabriele had no idea where the man kept his money.

He sighed and leaned against the fireplace.

Louis eyed him. 'What?'

'Do you want to get married?' Gabriele asked.

'I didn't even know you cared,' Louis smiled.

Gabriele rolled his eyes. 'Not to me,'

'I figured,'

'To anyone,'

'I suppose it's crossed my mind, yes,'

'Would you leave this life for the right woman?' he asked.

'Most men would do anything for the right woman,' Louis said. Sometimes Louis could be a little bit on the profound side. It always surprised Gabriele.

'I never wanted to get married,' Gabriele shrugged. 'Still don't,'

'Hmm,'

'What I'm thinking is that we need to draw Erik back out,'

Louis dropped the paper and stared up at him. 'What?'

'We need to get him to show himself,' Gabriele explained. 'He's been gone for nearly five months, we need to draw him into the open,'

'You're insane,' Louis said simply, standing from his seat. 'I'm going...'

'Louis!' Gabriele called after him. The big man turned around. 'Wait... _listen_... we need his money,'

'Should have thought of that before,'

Gabriele pushed his anger down. Getting angry with Louis was not good for a person's health.

'Like I said, I'm going,'

'Please, wait,' Gabriele caught up to him. 'Just hear what I have to say,'

'I don't want to,'

'Why not? I have an idea,'

'Yes,' Louis opened the door. 'You had an idea the last time as well and we both know how that turned out,'

Gabriele felt the sigh escape and Louis glared at him. Gabriele was Louis' boss, this much was true, but the way things were at the moment Gabriele had no control over him. He could not find him decent work with decent pay because they needed money to begin with. Gabriele didn't want to admit to them all that he had managed to squander most of the companies profits...

'We use her again,'

'Crazy,'

'Not crazy,' Gabriele said. 'Brilliant,'

'He'll kill you,' Louis stepped outside. 'You know that, don't you?'

'Not if I've got you,'

The bigger man laughed and began to walk down the steps. 'You don't think that he will kill me?'

'Not if we set it up right,' Gabriele followed him. 'Have a real plan,'

'You always have plans,' Louis spun around. 'Always... but they never seem to go quite the way intended,'

'Erik has nothing on you,'

'Are you joking?' Louis asked, staring down at Gabriele. 'Erik could kill me with a glance, Gabriele,'

'You're much bigger than he is,'

'Do you actually believe that that matters?'

Gabriele didn't.

'We have both seen him kill a man twice his size just like that,' Louis snapped his fingers. 'He will kill all of us,'

'Maybe he is hatching a plot against us now,' Gabriele countered. 'Maybe he is going to kill us anyway... he _must_ know what we have done,'

Louis shrugged. 'Correction, what _you_ have done,'

'We're friends,'

'Are we?'

'Of course,'

Louis smiled. 'I don't think so,'

'So where will your income come from, huh?' Gabriele demanded, beginning to get angry.

Louis paused, he seemed to be thinking about it. 'Go on then,' he finally said. 'What's your master plan, let me hear it?'

'We put the word out that we're going to kill her,'

'And you think that will drawn him out?'

Gabriele nodded. 'He loves her,'

'She's courting another man,'

'That won't matter,' Gabriele smiled. 'He loves her... he won't have just stopped loving her,'

Louis thought about this.

'We put a word in the underground that we are going to kill her,' he shrugged. 'It will draw him out,'

'And if he finds us before we find him?' Louis asked.

'We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,'

Louis laughed again. 'We won't know we've come to it until it's too late,'

'We can outsmart him,'

'We can't,'

'Help me Louis,' he said. 'Forget the company, just us, we'll split his money between us,'

'I'll help you Gabriele,' Louis finally responded. 'But not because I like you, because I am desperate for the money and don't even _think_ that I'll take a bullet for you,'

* * *

Nadir let the sun wash across his body as he lay back on the private beach. He did not often befriend people at all but he had met a man of a similar background to him the last time he was in the Spain and he let Nadir use his home. Erik was sitting in the shade of a tree staring out silently over the span of the wide sea.

Nadir would often wonder what his friend was thinking. When the urge took him, so that he almost asked, he would remind himself that there was a high possibility that whatever Erik was thinking, Nadir probably did not want to know about it. The break away was what Erik needed, or so Nadir had thought, but as the time had past by Erik had grown more and not less depressed. Over the first month or so they had both enjoyed themselves, spending time drinking and gambling and seeing women.

Erik had proved that he could talk a frightened woman into his bed with a little charm and a lot of money. Nadir enjoyed this approach, there was far less attachment to be made, and it suited him that way. He would have thought that Erik would have felt the same way about it... but he obviously did not. It was not so much what he said but his attitude about it the next day.

Erik was still in love with Christine Daae and no amount of whores or drinking would change that. Nadir had realised a few things about his friend over the course of the last five months. Not least of all that, though Erik was a loner, he was most certainly capable of love and affection. Erik did not like to drink too much, not like Nadir, Erik also did not sleep at night.

Nadir had always known he slept better in the day, he just never realised that he barely slept at all of a night. Erik preferred the night. He spent the night with a pile of papers writing and closing his eyes.

Nadir did not ask.

He glanced back at his friend, his mask was glowing under the intensity of the sun, but his eyes did not shift and the blue of the ocean sparkled in his eyes.

'Erik,' he said, looking at him.

Erik glanced up but said nothing.

'You've been terribly quiet since you went into the town,' Nadir prompted. 'Anything wrong?'

'No,' he said simply and then let his eyes drift back to the waves.

'Are you sure?'

'Yes,' he did not look over again.

Nadir watched him for a moment longer, he saw how the sun caught in his sad eyes, watched the way the breeze blew his hair back. Erik did not seem to notice any of this, he was staring out intently, but he did not seem to actually see what he was looking at. If it was possible, Nadir would guess that Erik was staring right through the horizon.

Nadir stood and walked to his friend.

'Tell me,'

Erik glanced up at him, the shadow from the tree flinched in the wind.

'What's going on?'

Erik smiled but the act wasn't one of warmth. 'Why were you never a detective, Daroga?'

'Not enough action,' Nadir replied quickly. 'Tell me,'

'I need to go back,'

Nadir was stunned for a moment. Erik had vowed that it would be a cold day in hell before he returned to Paris. The man had been broken, crushed, he had lost what he loved, the only thing he loved, and Nadir knew how completely betrayed he felt.

_Necessity_.

'Why?' Nadir watched Erik's eyes. 'What's happened?'

'I went into the village this morning,' Erik said, seemingly ignoring Nadir's question. 'I went to see one of my contacts... he keeps me up to date, you know how it is?'

Nadir nodded, he did.

'He tells me that Gabriele Aiton is running low on funds,'

'Your source is good,'

'Yes,'

'And?'

'He is going to kidnap Christine and hold her until a ransom is paid,'

'He's really branching out,'

Erik frowned. 'I need to go back,'

'To save her?'

Erik did not reply. Instead he shifted his gaze from Nadir and back over the ocean. The Persian could see the waves crash in his eyes.

Nadir sighed. 'Are you trying to save her, Erik?'

He shrugged.

'She has her beau for that,'

At this, Erik laughed. 'Raoul De Changy is no match for Gabriele, you and I both know it,'

'You don't have to do this,'

'I do,'

Nadir sat down next to him, dug his hands into the sand. 'It might be a trap,'

'I think it probably is,' Erik sighed.

'And you still wish to go?'

Erik smiled. 'Just because he is trapping me does not mean that he won't go through with kidnapping her... and possibly... probably, killing her,'

Nadir knew about Gabriele Aiton and had recently learnt of Erik's connection to him. He hadn't been happy but what could he do? What was done was done. Nadir could not accept Erik as a murderer but refuse him as an extortionist. People made their money anyway they could.

It had been a cool night some months ago when Erik had decided he was ready to talk. Nadir had no doubt that the gin he had drunk was part of the reason for Erik's loose tongue but he also knew when his friend was deeply troubled.

He remembered it clearly. 'She betrayed me,' he had said.

Nadir had been half asleep when he spoke but the sound of Erik's deep voice had woken him up instantly. He had not replied, choosing to let Erik's mind take him to wherever they were going.

'She is in love with that boy,' he had continued. 'I saw them, they kissed, she told him she loved him... that they would be together,'

Nadir had not really known what to say.

'I've done many... awful things,' Erik's voice had pierced the night air. 'I fund Gabriele Aiton's organisation to make a profit, I have killed... I've done so much wrong in my life it's hard to find where the good in me once was,'

Silence.

'If, in fact, it ever really was,'

'It's there...' Nadir had said.

'I'm not sure,' Erik voice had slowly become lower until it was almost a whisper, as if he were talking to himself. 'The things I've seen, you know, they change you. The things you see make your perspectives change and sometimes you forget which way is up and which is down but truth be told, most of the time, I don't care anymore,'

Before Nadir could respond Erik had continued to talk:

'I love her,' his voice was soft now, sad but not broken. 'I gave her knowledge of me, I gave her trust, I helped her and ... look at me now,'

Nadir glanced at Erik sitting under the tree on the beach and brought his thoughts back from that night. Erik was looking to his left, staring at the cabin they were using.

'It's time for me to go back there,' he said, breaking their silence.

'Are you sure you're ready to face this?'

Nadir expected Erik to snap at him, berate him for questioning his judgement, instead he simply shrugged.

'I still have to go,'

Nadir nodded. 'Lets get our things together then,'

Erik did not move, did not speak.

'We can be back with in a month,'

Erik nodded.


	42. Somewhere in My Past

**A/N: Nope, more like 2.5**

**Chapter 41- Somewhere in My Past**

Christine woke up in her bed, back in the opera house where she felt that she belonged. For the last six months she had been staying with the Giry's, who made her very welcome. The time came, though, that she needed to move back to where she considered home. Her old room was exactly as she remembered it, just as she had left it, except not she placed a blanket over the mirror and put her table in front of it.

She considered calling in the stage hands and asking them if they could seal it up but she knew that she couldn't. She had no hope that Erik would return, she did not want him there, he frightened her, he had hurt her and now, with him gone, she and Raoul were happy. But the mirror was a nod to the past, an acknowledgement of what she had been through.

Besides this, if she asked them to seal it then they would know that it was there.

She pulled herself out of bed with ease, light heart and light feet propelled her around the room. The warmth in her washed and dressed her, got her to the market and rehearsals.

The joy in her found Raoul in the park again.

He was alone.

'Where is Mrs Leroux?' she asked as she approached him.

He stood and kissed her cheek softly, leaving a warm glow on her skin. 'I managed to lose her,'

'I hope you have only pure intentions in mind,' she teased but secretly she did wonder why he would evade Mrs Leroux.

His smile was bright and warm. 'The purest,'

He took her hand and guided her to the bench, allowing her to sit before he did. They sat for a moment and then, for the first time since they had been back together, she felt them fall into what seemed an uncomfortable silence. She glanced at Raoul who was fidgeting uneasily and felt a burning begin in her chest.

'What's wrong?' she asked.

He blinked. 'Nothing,'

'You're not speaking to me,'

'I'm sorry,' he said softly. 'I didn't realise,'

She nodded.

'How was your morning?'

'Since when do we have small talk?' she asked, worried.

'We don't,'

'Then please tell me what's going on here, Raoul, you're frightening me,'

He grabbed her hands. 'Don't be afraid,'

'You're making it difficult to be anything else,' she said. 'You're acting so strangely,'

'Am I really?' he asked and he seemed almost out of breath. This was not the Raoul she knew.

'Yes,' she said, trying to stop the dread from building inside her.

'I'm just... I'm a little nervous,'

'Why?'

He laughed. 'I'm useless, aren't I?'

'At what?'

'Everything,' he grinned. 'Bumbling fool...'

'Don't say that,' she said but smiled back.

He stood up abruptly and dug his hand into his pocket, fumbling around. She frowned at him, confused.

'What on earth are you doing?' she asked.

He smiled again. 'Don't be so nosey,'

She waited as patiently as she could until he said, 'Ah,' and then dropped to one knee in front of her.

'I spoke to Philippe today,' Raoul swallowed.

Her heart thumped in her chest.

'He approves,'

'Raoul...'

'Shh,' he held out a box and opened the top, showing a ring encrusted with diamonds. 'Will you... er... well, will you marry me?'

For a moment she was taken aback, to her it all seemed so out of the blue, so rushed, yet the romantic in her saw the man she loved prepared to give her everything. She reached out and touched his hand, smiled at him.

'Of course,' she said, beaming. 'There was really no need to be nervous,'

He leapt to his feet and pulled her into his arms, squeezing her tightly. 'I love you,' he whispered.

'I love you too,'

When she pulled away he showed her the ring again before placing it on her finger but when it was there something did not feel quit right. She looked down at it.

'Raoul,' He must have noticed the tone in her voice because the light in his eyes went out. 'I'd like to wear it on my chain... around my neck,'

The hurt on his face was painful to her. 'Why?'

'I'd like to keep it to ourselves for a while...' she said. 'Just in case,'

'In case?' he asked but he did not sound angry. 'You're still afraid of him,'

'Just until...'

He nodded. 'I understand,

'Oh Raoul, I'm so happy, please don't be sad,'

He forced a smile. 'Alright,'

'Please, Raoul, it's only for a while,' she smiled and then winked. 'We can just add the story to our chest of secrets... it will be a more pleasant story to tell our children,'

At the mention of children Raoul visibly brightened and she walked to him, sliding her arms around his waist. He held her close and kissed her hair.

'You'll be such a wonderful father,' she spoke into his shoulder. 'And we will be just fine,'

'I hope so,' he whispered. 'I really hope so,'

* * *

The door was open and the room dark and cold. The books were as they had been left and, other than a covering of dust, the room was how he had left it. Erik walked in, followed by Nadir, and placed his bag on the chair closest to the bedroom. He let his eyes drift around the room, over the table and chairs, the books, the piano, the lake...

_His lake._

Feeling the cold of the room brush over him he walked to the edge of the lake and bent down, looking into the water. His protector.

'How do you feel?' Nadir asked.

He turned to face him. 'I'm not sure,'

'Has anything altered?'

Erik took another sweeping glance of the room, taking in details that it would take other people hours to absorb. He simply confirmed his first thoughts. 'Nothing has changed,'

'That's good,' Nadir nodded. 'No one has found this place,'

'Not even the people who know about it have been here,' he commented, thinking of Antoinette. He wondered if Laurent had spoken to her.

He slowly made his way to the table and sat at a seat next to it, swiping the dust away with his forearm.

'Thank you,' Nadir coughed, waving the cloud dust away with his arms.

Erik somehow managed a smile. 'You're welcome,'

'What will you do now?' The Persian asked, letting his dark eyes explore Erik's face. Very few things ever fazed Erik but one of the things that did was the way the old police officers eyes implored you, explored you, devoured you.

There was something distinctly uncomfortable about being stared at by Nadir.

'I don't know,'

'It's so good that you planned this out,' Nadir grinned.

'I suppose I should settle myself back in,'

Nadir nodded, said nothing.

'And find Christine,'

'Don't rush that,'

'I need to know if she is alright,'

Nadir rubbed his chin. 'She is, you would have heard news by now if she was not,'

Erik knew that he was right but to acknowledge the fact was to lose some control and also, to admit that he did not need to see Christine.

Though he ached for her, though she hurt him, he wanted to see her... something morbid within him wanted to see the beauty of her smile and the softness of her skin. He still wondered what she tasted like, would she be peaches or chocolate? Grapes or cream? Bitter or sweet?

_Sweet_, he imagined.

He turned and walked to the boat, unhooking the rope from its anchor.

'Where are you going?' the Persian asked, walking towards him.

'I'm going to settle back in,'

Nadir frowned. 'Down here, _surely_?'

'I need to see the theatre,' Erik pushed away from the side with the oar. 'I need to see what they have done to it,'

Nadir turned his back and shrugged as Erik guided the boat through the corridor and out of his home. When he found his usual port for the boat he got out, tied it up, and turned to look at his maze of corridors. He felt a smile form on his lips at the sight of his traps, his mirrors, his labyrinth.

It took him a while but he found his way to the corridor at the rear of the stage. He looked through the gap above him, in the floorboards, and listened carefully. When he felt sure that the coast was clear he pushed his trap door open and stepped out. To his right were the hallways leading to the dressing rooms, to his left was the stage. Instead of heading towards it he leapt up and grabbed a rope above his head, climbing it until he was standing on a beam high above the stage.

He followed his usual path until he was in the auditorium, looking down on rows of seats and the boards of the stage, newly refurbished. As he was about to leave the room he heard the sound of people walking to the stage and felt his heart stop. Part of him wanted to see Christine, the other, never wanted to lay eyes on her again.

When he looked down he noticed, now disappointed, that she was not there.

Antoinette led the dancers on and then stood aside as they warmed their muscles up.

She looked like her usual self, nothing much changed, her hip still hurt, he could tell from the way she leaned to the side when she stood. Her hair, as always, was pinned back tightly, the air of authority swirling around her. The girls finished their warm up and walked to stand around her, all of them looking at her in silence, waiting for her instruction.

'Act one, scene one,' she said simply, firmly. The young girls scattered around her, taking their positions on the stage and then, when all in place, began their movements. She watched carefully, as she walked through them and around them, when one of the girls was a step out she tapped the floor with her cane and made them start over.

If they did well, she told them so or let them leave early, Antoinette Giry was a master at her art. Erik could appreciate this.

He watched for a while, hoping no one saw him, not yet.

He loved Antoinette in a way that he could probably never love anyone else. He would trust her, even now, with his life. Her heart was good, her morals strong, yet she understood necessity and the things that came with it.

As he sat there, looking down on them, he wondered if he should let her know that he was back in Paris. The thought rippled in his mind until it faded out and he decided, quite firmly, against it. There were many reasons for this. The first being that he wanted the air of surprise at his return to be final. The second was that, if Laurent had spoken to her, she would know about his agreement with Gabriele, and would not be happy.

He, quite frankly, did not need to distraction.


	43. Confessions of A Broken Heart

**Chapter 42- Confessions of a Broken heart.**

Louis shook his head. 'No,'

'We have to,'

'What part of _no_ is so difficult to understand?' he asked, staring at Gabriele. The man had no morals.

'I can't do it without you,' Gabriele sighed, slumping into his seat.

'Then you won't do it at all,' Louis shrugged.

Gabriele leaned his head back against the top of his seat and closed his eyes. Louis did not care for Gabriele at all. At one time he would probably have considered him a friend, they worked together, they had needed to trust each other... now, this was all but gone. He was beginning to wonder why he had agreed to do this in the first place.

_Money_.

It was always about money but he knew that money was the centre of the world. People denied it, would have you believe that love and family were far more important, but Louis had grown up knowing better. He was not an unintelligent man, neither was his father, yet both of them had eventually had to use their size to better their financial situation.

The look on his mother's face when she found out that Louis was going into the same business as his father was a look he would never forget. Forever would it be locked into his mind. His father had died some years ago and though Louis had been upset, part of him had been relieved. It was not that his father was a nasty or evil man, he wasn't, he simply did what was needed to keep his family.

This had become a problem over the years, a problem with Louis' mother and a problem with his father. He took to drink, his father, and eventually it killed him. Louis had no contact with his mother and she made a pittance of a living as a waitress. She said at least it was honest. Louis did not care.

Money was important to him, more important than many things. He had told Gabriele some months ago that he would do anything for the right woman, and he truly believed that, yet part of him always wondered what he would expect of her. The business he was in meant that he met few women he wasn't trying to intimidate... this was not conducive to a successful relationship.

Lately, he had just resigned himself to being alone.

Gabriele prodded his shoulder. 'Are you listening big man?'

'No,' Louis stated, looking away.

'We've got to do this,'

'I helped you get him back to Paris, that, as far as I'm concerned, is my part of our little arrangement over,'

'How can it be?' Gabriele asked, starting to look a little agitated. 'When we don't have his money yet?'

'That's your problem,'

'Yours too,' Gabriele sighed. 'If you want to get paid,'

Louis glared at the smaller man. 'I will get paid, one way or another, Gabriele,'

He watched as Gabriele swallowed. _Pathetic_.

'I can't get the money without taking the girl,'

'If I didn't know better I'd say you had a bit of a thing for Miss Daae,'

Gabriele rolled his eyes. 'Not as big a thing as you,'

'I have more sense than to involve myself in any of Erik's business,'

'Its too late for that now,' Gabriele said. 'You need to help me deal with this or we'll both run out of money,'

'You mean to tell me that you haven't already?'

They stared at each other for a long moment, Gabriele eventually shrugged his shoulders.

'I need you to help me,'

'No,'

'Louis,' He was pleading now, his eyes were wide, watery, he was stuck. 'Please... we need to do this, he has to take us seriously or we will never get paid for this,'

Louis said nothing.

'You help me,' Gabriele rubbed his eyes. 'And we go our separate ways, we stay away from each other, you never have to set eyes on me again... but we can't do that until we have Erik Lambourne's funds,'

Louis thought for a moment. 'What happened to company profit?'

'We used it...'

'Doing what?'

'Funding other loans,'

Louis laughed. 'Really...'

'What are you accusing me of?' Gabriele became quickly defensive, staring at Louis, trying to make him believe that he was not a liar. _Unsuccessful_.

'Of being a lying cheating bastard,' Louis said simply, not angrily. 'You've spent it all... not that I'm complaining too much, I get paid up front, remember? But the others... well... they trust you don't they? They think you're keeping their money nice and safe, ready for them to take... they think you're investing it in more set-ups, making more profit from it but I'm not fooled, and soon they'll catch on,'

Gabriele's mask broke down and he covered his face with his hands. 'I need Erik's money,'

'I know that,'

'I need you to help me,'

'For such an intelligent man you really did get yourself into a situation didn't you?' Louis asked.

Gabriele simply nodded.

'Will you kill her?'

'Christine?'

Louis nodded.

'I don't know,'

'If you're going to kill her there is no way that I'm helping you,' Louis looked at Gabriele.

'I won't kill her,'

Louis hardened his stare. _'Or_ hurt her,'

'Louis...'

'You won't hurt her, Gabriele,' Louis said. 'If you do, I'll hurt you, do we understand each other?'

Again, Gabriele swallowed and gave a small nod. 'I didn't figure you for a man with standards, Louis,'

'There's a lot you haven't figured about me,'

Gabriele seemed to shake the comment off. 'There is more than one way to get to Christine,'

Louis lifted his eyebrows, watched as Gabriele stood and moved to the open window. Gabriele took a deep breath, as if taking in fresh air for the first time in years, and then turned back to Louis. His eyes were dark, cool, something different in them.

'We'll take Raoul De Changy as well,'

'That's right,' Louis said. 'Bring the whole aristocracy down on us why don't you?'

Gabriele, for the first time, laughed. 'Aristocracy does not worry you,'

'True,'

'If we threaten Raoul, Christine will do anything,'

Louis thought about it for a moment and then nodded his agreement. 'But we don't hurt Christine,'

'So, you're in, then? Gabriele asked, looking hopeful.

'I'm in,'

* * *

It was a rainy day, the first time he saw her since he had been back home. He had been to the rooftop to get some fresh air, to dredge up painful memories, perhaps to torture himself. The rain had soaked through his white shirt, his hair was damp and falling over his forehead, sending droplets of rain into his eyes.

He was in the rafters again, getting ready to lower himself to his trap door, when he heard her voice. Unmistakable, unchanged, unhindered... beautiful voice. Holding the rope next to him, to steady himself, he stared down waiting for her to come around the corner. He knew that he should jump back, get deeper into the shadows, but he was frozen to the spot. That part of him that wanted to run away from her, stay away from her, scurried to the back of his mind and he waited for her.

When she walked around the corner she was with Meg Giry, both looking well, but Christine was utterly radiant. His eyes were fixed on her, he could not move, could barely breath. Meg said something and Christine laughed. He felt the dagger in his heart.

Painful and pleasant all at the same time.

He watched Christine push Meg playfully, he watched them giggle, he watched the way her eyes sparkled as she laughed, watched the light dance in them. The sound of her laughter was the heaven that was not his, the heaven that often had felt so close yet only just out of his reach. A lifetime of painful memories flooded back to him, all in seconds, as he watched the happiness she exuded.

Meg was swept up in their play fight, running along the corridor, arms flailing, but Christine was laughing too hard to chase her. She leaned against the wall, her shoulders moving with each wave of laughter, even from his distances he could see tears rolling down her cheeks. He wondered what it was like to laugh so much, so heartily, that tears attacked your eyes.

Looking at his hand he realised that his knuckles had turned white from gripping the rope so tightly. His body had tautened from the tension he felt watching her, from the agony of the confusion he felt flooding his veins.

His wet shirt clung to his chest but sagged from his waist, he was finding it very difficult to breath... every gasp of air hurt him deep in the heart.

Meg walked back, finally, mercifully, the laughter stopped and they hugged each other. Christine's slender arms, soft hands, slipped around her friend and held her close. They stood like that for a long moment and, though he wanted to, he could not avert his eyes. His heart could not allow them their private moment because he simply could not look away, could not take his eyes from her.

Not for the first time his mind leapt back to holding her, dancing with her, touching her... how soft she felt in his arms, how she allowed herself to beled by him and how she put her trust in him. He had put his trust in her.

This was the payback he received.

Yet when he looked at her he could not summon the anger he had first felt, he could not bring it to his mind for while she was in front of him she was still attainable, somehow, in his mind, it was as if she could still be his. He shook his head, sending the water from his hair splashing down on the floor.

Christine saw it and looked around her.

Erik had just enough faculty about him to jump back into the shadows but still his eyes remained focused on her soft face. He watched as she frowned.

She said, 'Did you hear something?'

Meg looked at her, and then around, 'No,'

'Oh,'

'What's wrong?' Meg asked, still looking.

'Nothing, I just thought that I heard something,' Christine replied. 'I saw some water drip down onto the floor over there,'

Meg moved over and Erik slid behind a wall. 'I see it, maybe we have a leak, it's raining quite heavily,'

Christine frowned again and cautiously walked closer, looking up and then down, then all around her until she was satisfied that there was no one there. Erik felt a little relief but there was a part of him that wanted her to know that he was there. She shrugged her shoulders and hooked her arm through Meg's.

'Lets go,' she said and Meg nodded.

Erik stepped back out of the shadows, his fingers curled around the frayed rope, his heart was beating wildly. Had she known he was there?

He watched as her hips swayed into the distance and she disappeared back around the corner. His heart would not calm, his body was shaking, his arms hurt... _everything_ hurt.

The sight of her... _so close...  
_  
How he hated what she did to him, hated the way her laugh could make him such a wreck, hated the sound of her voice, hated the way her eyes shimmered when she smiled, hated the curls that touched her beautiful face, hated the ground she stood on... because it could touch her feet... how he hated her...

_How he loved her_.


	44. Perfect Year

**A/N: Nadir, though a Muslim due to his homeland, is not strict in it to say the least. He has led a troubled life- much like Erik- and has been 'forced' to find his own ways to deal with this. I don't really want to say too much about Nadir here- I'm hoping to have a later chapter describing at least some more of his background.**

**Thank you very much for the reviews and to those of you simply reading. **_**And**_** for the PM's- very kind.**

**I have around 12 chapters already written for this and am hoping to post four today and four a week. I hadn't written anything new to this for quite some time but on Friday I found myself ploughing through a new chapter. **

**Anyway, I'll continue. Reviews always appreciated.**

**Chapter 43- Perfect Year**

Raoul's hand found Christine's in the crowd of people, everyone looking so happy and so ready to see in the new -year, that he almost felt a little left out. He held on tight, worried that if he let go for one second, then he would lose her. The thought was almost unbearable and he pushed it to the back of his mind. She had been so distant since he had asked her to be his wife. How could he have been such a fool? It was too soon, he had frightened her, and this hurt him more than anything.

Over Christmas she seemed to warm to the idea. Philippe had, for the first time, welcomed her openly into the family home. They had all exchanged gifts, his to Christine being a delicate gold pendent, she seemed to like it. Now, though, he knew she was scared, he simply could not understand why she did not want people know of the seriousness of their relationship.

He was in love with her. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops, tell the whole of Paris_... the whole of the world_. She was more subdued and he was determined to make her feel more comfortable.

When she had walked to her door in her masquerade costume for the New Years Eve ball, he had been taken aback by how stunning she looked. Not that she wasn't always beautiful, but that evening, there was something completely breathtaking about her. He wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms, kiss her lips.

All of which prohibited by the presence of their chaperone, still insistent on following them everywhere. He wanted to scream that they were engaged, that they were to be married, that they were madly in love.

'Are you alright?' He asked, as she let go of his hand and moved away from him slightly.

She nodded, eyes wide as she took in the Ball's decorations. 'It looks lovely in here,'

'A lot of effort went into this,' He smiled, moving closer to her. 'It's to signify the start of a brand new year, a _better_ year...'

She looked up at him.

'A year without pain and tragedy,' He reached out and squeezed her hand. 'We should tell people of our engagement,'

'Raoul...'

'They will be happy for us, Christine,' He held her hand tightly. 'I'm so anxious that the world knows that we are together,'

'The world...' She murmured.

'Yes,'

She glanced at her feet. 'The world includes some people that I don't want to know about it,'

He sighed. 'Please, Christine, he is gone,'

'Does that mean he will never return?' She asked, walking away from him. He followed her, determined that she would see the bright of everything, instead of the dark. That night, six months ago, he had vowed to protect her and bring her away from the darkness... he would not let her down.

'If he does,' He said. 'And that's a big if... if he does, then I will be here to protect you, Christine,'

She smiled but Raoul could see that it was forced. 'I know you'll try,'

'Try?' He said, his heart falling. 'He is a man, Christine, not a real life monster. He is as beatable as any other man.'

'Raoul, do we have to talk about this right now?'

He looked at her face, her eyes had grown moist and her cheeks ashen. The sight of her upset was crushing to him but what else could he do? Somehow he had to make her see that this Phantom could not hurt her anymore and if he tried then Raoul would be there to protect her.

'I'm sorry,' He said. 'I know it's not the right time but... can't you just wear your ring?'

'I do,'

'On your finger,'

She stared at him. 'I explained this,'

'He can't hurt you anymore,'

'He has not hurt me _before_, Raoul,'

He blinked. 'Maybe not physically,'

'You don't understand him,'

'Do you?'

Her eyes turned cold. 'Yes,'

'Then why not tell the police about him?' He demanded, feeling anger and, oddly, a sense of hurt wash through him. 'Why did you protect him? If you know so much, if you understand him so well, why did you not allow the police to find him?'

'I did not know where he had gone,' Was her answer. 'He loved me, I hurt him, he hurt others...'

'Which is wrong!'

'I never said that it wasn't,' Her voice was strangely calm, almost a monotone as she spoke. There was no doubt in Raoul's mind that Christine was afraid of this ghost but maybe he had misjudged her reasons or maybe he had only heard what he wanted to hear.

He reached out and took her hands in his again. 'I'm sorry,'

'Its fine,' she said. 'Really,'

'I don't mean to upset you, I just want to be with you,'

She smiled at him. 'You _are_ with me,'

'Is it so wrong to want people to know about that?' He managed a smile. 'That the most beautiful woman in the world is with me, in love with me?'

'No,'

'I know you're afraid,'

'I'm afraid for your safety more than mine,'

'I see that now,'

'He hates you,'

The comment made Raoul's smile broaden. 'I'm not particularly fond of him either,'

They walked through the large wooden doors and the lobby opened out, the staircase spread itself magnificently, as if it was all around them, and the decorations hung with a sort of elegance. People walked around, some danced, all in bright colours and extravagant masks. Gently, Christine touched his arm, and he felt the warm sensation he always did when she was near him. She moved away from him and they walked in together, but apart.

The masquerade, the new-year, looked to be a success.

* * *

Richard did not smile often and when he did, it often looked forced, as if someone were holding a pistol to his head making him do it. Gilles was walking towards him, noting the actual, genuine looking smile that had suddenly appeared on his friend's face. The room was truly beautiful and everyone had played their parts to perfection. Gilles has opted for quite a plain costume and simple mask but Richard, to his amazement, was dressed in bright red and yellow, with a very... interesting mask resting on his forehead.

'I pulled it off so that you could find me,' Richard commented as Gilles approached. 'I know you wouldn't recognise the attire,'

His friend actually twirled.

'You look...'

'Good, eh?' Richard grinned.

'Have you been drinking already?'

The other man frowned, but only for a brief moment, before laughing and clapping Gilles firmly on the back. 'No, I'm high on the spirit of life!'

'Well, it certainly looks good in here, doesn't it?' Gilles said as he looked around him.

'Bloody amazing,'

'Party of the century, I think,' Gilles continued. 'Stroke of genius to invite some of the people from... er... _that_ night,'

'I thought so,'

'They all look to be having a wonderful time,' Gilles grabbed a glass of champagne from the waitress walking past. 'I expect it will be a late night,'

Richard pulled the mask down over his face. 'I'm going to chat to some ladies,'

Gilles lifted his glass, 'To a prosperous year then, my friend,'

'To the new chandelier,'

They clinked glassed and went their separate ways. When Gilles reached the bottom of the stairs he was greeted by a smiling Madame Giry and her husband. The male Giry was not exactly what Gilles had expected. The man was quiet and tall, one of those men he had always been a little weary of. Still, he seemed a pleasant enough chap.

'Good evening,' He held out his hand and Scott Giry took it, shaking it a little too cautiously. 'Are you having a good time?'

'Wonderful,' Scott answered, but he sounded guarded. 'Beautiful set up,'

'Isn't it?' Gilles beamed at the couple. 'Madame?'

Antoinette Giry looked at him, and then around the room. 'It _is_ lovely,'

Woman of few words, as always.

'Won't you have a glass of champagne?' Gilles waved a waitress over to them.  
'This is a celebration, after all,'

Scott held up his hand, smile on his face, politely declining to drink the champagne. 'Not for me, thank you,'

'For you?' He looked at Madame Giry.

She shook her head. 'I like to keep my wits about me,'

'No need,' He grinned. 'We are among friends, Madame,'

Her eyes drifted around the room, so cold was her gaze that Gilles felt a chill around him, then she set her eyes back up on him. Scott Giry slid a protective arm around her waist.

'It's a party,' Gilles was starting to feel nervous. 'What's wrong?'

Scott glanced down at his wife. 'She isn't feeling too well,'

'Its not that I'm ill,' She quickly corrected. 'I just have an awful feeling about tonight,'

'I'm not sure I understand,' Gilles said, confused.

'I wouldn't expect you to,' Came her response as she freed herself gently from her husband's grasp and walked away. Scott simply shrugged at him and followed her.

When Gilles saw Raoul and Philippe de Chagny chatting away happily he felt a lift in his spirits but he was still concerned by Madame Giry's demeanour. It was as if she knew something that the rest of them did not. His eyes scanned the room and he spotted Christine Daae, recognising her because of her soft, dark curls. Her costume was very good but did not really cover who she was. Perhaps young Miss Daae no longer wanted to be part of the back drop.

The music continued, the light hearted chatter drifted around him. He walked around and mingled with the crowd, introducing himself to potential new donators, and generally having a good time. He decided that, quite the contrary of Madame Giry's feelings, he had the feeling that it was going to be rather a pleasant new year. The crowd all got together as the clock above the room showed that midnight was closing in.

He could hardly believe just how many people were there.

They stood there and counted the seconds down until midnight arrived and that's when it happened. He felt a cool breeze tickle his back, sending his hairs prickling at the sensation. It was obvious that everyone else felt it too as they all look around them.

Someone gasped.

There, at the top of the stairs, was the look of death itself. A costume of red velvet and a skeleton mask. the silence in the room was almost suffocation, no one said anything, no one dared move an inch.

The man in the dressed as death stopped midway down the stairs and looked around him.

'Happy New Year,' The man spoke, the voice was chilling... _and all too familiar_.

No one responded, everyone stood completely still, staring up at him.

'Why so silent? You all look surprised,' He commented, taking another step down the stairs. Gilles felt his breath catch as he watched the man they knew as Phantom casually lean against the banister and look around him. 'Did you think that I had left you for good?'

Gilles swallowed as the man held out a bound document and then. 'I've written you an opera,'

The Phantom flung it to the floor and then took another step down. There was no rush to him, no fear to be seen, he looked completely at ease. It was obvious that no one in the room, no one at the ball, made the ghost even remotely nervous.

'It's called Don Juan Triumphant,' Another step down the stair case. 'My, how half a year flies by when you're having so much fun,'

Someone stepped forward, a young man in a dark costume, but one sharp look from the Phantom sent the poor boy scurrying back into the crowd.

'The score is finished,' He said, nodding down at the book lying on the floor. 'I expect you to comply, rehearsals to start immediately,'

He took another confident step down until he was on the bottom ledge of the staircase.

'I have written a list of strict instructions, they're very clear,' The death mask moved in a nod as he walked onto the floor, in the middle of the crowd. _'Remember_...'

He looked straight at Gilles.

'There are worse things than a shattered chandelier,'

The room was still silent, the man, this Phantom, was standing amongst them, in the middle of them and not one person had the nerve to move. Gilles felt he barely had the courage to even breath. The mask moved again and the Phantom scanned the room until he found was he was looking for.

It was the strangest thing. Christine Daae stared at him, mesmerised, and stepped forward, towards him. Raoul was in the crowd trying to make his way through as the Phantom lifted his hand and beckoned to Christine.

She obeyed, stepping closer to him.

He reached out, traced his finger along her bare collarbone. Gilles saw that she was holding her breath, staring into his eyes, unable to move. The Phantom's finger stopped at the chain around her neck.

'Your chains are still mine,' He said, almost gently, but it didn't last. She blinked as he grabbed the chain and tore it from her throat. 'You will sing for _me_!'

Raoul and Philippe darted from the crowd in different directions but as they did the Phantom nodded his head at Gilles and then a cloud of smoke appeared, blinding them all. Raoul and Philippe fought their way through it from the sides but when they made it to the centre, when the smoke had cleared... the Phantom of Opera was gone.

**A/N2: Oh and I'm surprised only one reviewer commented on the Leroux thing- must be losing my tough lol**


	45. Masquerade

**Chapter 44- Masquerade**

Erik had been holding the ring so tightly that the diamond had cut into his hand, drawing blood. He glanced down at the small wound, seeing the pattern now engraved in his skin. Placing his lips over the cut, he cleaned the blood away with his tongue, and spat it onto the ground next to him. He was back down in the cellars, sitting on the floor, with his back to the freestanding wall along the edge of the lake.

The costume he had worn was flung to his left, part of it dipped into the water, he was sitting wearing only his trousers, no mask, no shirt. The exposure he was feeling was nothing like the sheer undressing he had felt upstairs. Christine had been drawn to him, as before, following his command but he had seen the ring immediately. With everyone staring he had done his best not to show his nerves but her body being so close to him, the line of her dress cutting just across the top of his breasts, showing so much _soft_ skin.

His hand had trembled slightly when he touched her collarbone.

The door to the rear of his home creaked open. 'Erik,'

'Daroga, leave me,' He said, too pitifully, as he heard the Persian's voice.

He was ignored and the older man walked into the room, staring down at him. 'You look a mess,'

'Thank you,' If anyone else had said this to him while he was unmasked he would probably have broken their neck.

'Come on, get up,' The command was spoken so softly that Erik made himself look up at his friend. The Persian was standing, dressed completely in white cotton, by the table.

Erik frowned. 'Are you an escaped mental patient, Daroga?'

'Have I ever told you how funny you are?' His friend asked.

'Certainly not as often as you should,' Erik said, as he rested his head back against the cool brick. He stared up at the ceiling. 'Go,'

'Not a chance,' Nadir walked over and jumped up so that he was sitting on the wall, legs hanging over the edge. After a moments silence between them; 'I hear you put on quite a show,'

'I try,'

'You've frightened the life out of them,'

Erik coughed. 'Pathetic,'

'Well, some might say sensible,' Nadir said. 'Considering the last time they saw you... you killed Joseph, destroyed the auditorium and killed a young woman,'

'I did warn them...' Erik sighed, his voice sounded weak.

'Yes but it wasn't really them you were punishing, was it, Erik?'

Erik looked over and gave a half hearted shrug. What was the point of all of this? He had come back to help Christine, to save her, but as soon as he set foot in the theatre it was like being... home again. _Truly home_. The scent, the sights... and to be home you must be a master of it. The opera he had spent the last six months writing was finished and he knew how he could take control back, and take Christine back at the same time.

Part of him knew that she was happy, he had seen it, seen her smile and laugh, carefree. This part of him, the good part, knew also, that he should leave her alone, let her live her life with the man she obviously loved. However, this was never the part of Erik that won the battle. His other side, his darker side, was somehow more powerful. The sight of her, the very sound of her voice, was enough to drive him crazy. He missed her, _loved_ her... he also needed to protect her and for that she needed to be with him.

'They are engaged?' Nadir asked.

'Apparently,'

'They haven't told anyone,'

'No,'

'Then how did you know?'

'I saw the ring,'

Nadir sighed. 'Yes, but how did you know it indicated engagement? She was, after all, wearing it around her neck,'

'I _know_ her,'

'Then you must see she is happy,'

'Giry told you she was happy?'

Nadir jumped up and walked back to the kitchen. 'Antoinette did tell me she was happy, yes,'

'Then I have no use for you here,'

'I'm not leaving you alone like this, Erik,'

'You think I'm wasting my time,' Erik snapped. 'I don't need you as a distraction,'

'I think saving Christine is the right thing to do but you are doing it the wrong way completely,'

'And what way would you do it?

'I'd send message to the De Chagny's,' Nadir shrugged.

'Then you're a bigger fool than I first thought,'

'Why?' Nadir asked. 'Why is that so bad? It is the right way, the right thing...'

'No,' Erik growled. 'It is not.'

'Erik, this isn't the way to get her back,'

'I _know_ I can't get her back,' He felt his voice crack and fought to swallow back tears. How stupid, how pathetic that he was to still love her, what a fool he felt.

'Then stop,'

'I have to save her,' Erik took a long breath, trying to calm his senses.

'Let someone else take that burden,' Nadir said, softly, looking down at him.

Erik did not even feel the will to move. The cold of the floor, the roughness of the wall, somehow felt comforting to him. Felt good, and punishing, and real. At that moment he needed that. He needed to feel, to know he was actually alive, pain was a good way to do this, to make it all real. The floor was uncomfortable yet it offered him more comfort that anything else.

'I can't,' He finally responded.

Nadir shook his head. 'I can only give you my advice,' he said. 'I cannot force you to take it,'

* * *

Raoul felt dazed, he was standing in the manager's plush office upstairs in the theatre, he glanced at the mantel clock. Twenty after one in the morning. Philippe was pacing back and forth past the long window, taking the occasional look outside, and then returning to his aimless walking.

Christine was sitting in the corner of the room, nearest the fireplace, staring out of the window at the cool night. The blackness outside was reflected in the mood in the room. Gilles Andre and Richard Firmin had changed their clothes and were now out of costume and in suits.

'This is a terrible situation,' Philippe said suddenly, after almost twenty minutes of silence.

Everyone looked up at him except for Christine, whose focus was fixed, quite firmly, on the horizon.

'Yes,' Gilles was the first to respond.

'It puts us in rather a grave position, doesn't it?' Philippe asked, but Raoul knew the question was rhetorical. His brother continued. 'This man, this _ghost_... he comes back for what purpose?'

Silence met the question.

'He brings us an opera to perform, he invades our party... he has been gone for six months for Christ sake, why is he back now?' Philippe's cheeks had begun to redden, his anger quickly there for all to see.

'He has obviously been plotting,' Richard suggested.

'Plotting?' Philippe raised his eyebrows. 'Raoul?'

'I'm not sure,' He said to his brother, though he suspected he actually knew. He sneaked a quick look at Christine. She did not appear to be listening.

'Are we to perform his opera?' Gilles asked, looking around at all the people present.

'I don't think that is a decision for this evening,' Philippe said.

Gilles nodded.

Philippe resumed his pacing. 'This is ridiculous,'

No one spoke.

'He's back, bolder than he ever was before...' Philippe stopped and stared out of the window. 'When did he ever show himself before tonight?'

Raoul looked from Richard to Andre who shrugged. 'He hasn't,'

'Yes, exactly,' Philippe sighed. 'So why now?'

It was Richard who spoke next. 'I believe he has shown himself to Christine,'

Raoul flinched. _'Miss Daae_, if you wouldn't mind,' He snapped.

Richard smiled slyly and then corrected himself. 'I think he has shown himself to _Miss_ Daae, on a number of occasions,'

Philippe spun around and stared at Christine. 'Is this true?'

She looked up, tears in her eyes. 'Yes,'

'Why on earth didn't you tell the police?' He snapped.

Raoul stood up. 'Philippe, it is not her fault,'

'Not her fault?' He growled. 'She could have helped the police to catch him! We wouldn't even be in this situation if she had only told them something...'

'And what would she have told them?'

Philippe turned from Raoul back to Christine. 'What would you have told them?'

She blinked. 'Nothing,'

'Traitorous behaviour,' He glanced at Raoul. 'Are you going to deal with this?'

'I'm afraid Monsieur Firmin misleads you slightly,' Raoul said, trying to remain calm though his pulse was rapid. 'The man in question did indeed tutor Christine but he was always in disguise,'

'She could have told them something!'

'Only what they already knew,' Raoul sat back down. 'She had no idea where he lived, what he really looks like, all she knows is what he sounds like... the police already know that,'

Philippe walked towards Christine. 'Is this true?'

She nodded weakly.

'How did he come to tutor you?'

'He heard me singing,'

'Where?'

'My room?'

'He came into your room?'

Christine scowled at him and Raoul walked over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders, showing his support. 'My room is my home,'

'You could have used the theatre,'

'The theatre was too open for him,' She said. 'He's shy,'

'He was in disguise,'

'He was also the Phantom of the Opera,' Raoul interjected. 'He did not want to be caught, you are looking for something that isn't there brother,'

Philippe jaw bunched. 'I don't understand why she remained friends with this phantom,'

'We weren't friends,' She answered.

'He seemed rather friendly with you in the hall out there,'

'We weren't friends, we were never friends,'

'Yet you allow him into your room, you don't tell the police about him...'

Raoul interrupted, 'We've been through this,'

Philippe gave him a hard look before continuing. 'You let him teach you, you let him touch you out there... _you_ walked to _him_...'

'Leave her alone, Philippe,' Raoul demanded, his voice hard.

'Know your place, Raoul,'

'No,' He said, firmly. 'Know _yours_,'

'Stop it,' Christine's soft voice broke through the tension. Raoul squeezed her shoulders gently, eyes still fixed on his brother. 'This is silly,'

'Where can we find him?' Philippe asked, sounding calmer.

'I don't know,'

Raoul did not move. 'She doesn't know,'

'I'm sending for the police,' Philippe turned and walked towards the two managers who had been watching the confrontation with quiet interest.

'Why?' Raoul called after him.

'They need to know,'

'And what can we tell them?' Raoul asked. 'That we saw him, that we don't know what he looks like, that he disappeared into a puff of smoke before our very eyes?'

Philippe turned back around.

'We need a plan,' Raoul said simply.

'You're right,' Philippe nodded. 'You're absolutely right,'

'But now is not the time,'

Richard moved to the centre of the room. 'I think he is right, I think we all need to get some rest and meet about this in the morning, talk it through,'

Philippe nodded. 'Good, then if we're all agreed, that's what we'll do,'

'Tomorrow at morning at nine?' Gilles asked, sitting at his desk.

Before anyone could answer there was a knock at the door. When it opened Antoinette Giry stepped in quietly.

'I have seen to all of the girls,' Her voice was weary, her face grim. 'They've all left now. May I leave?'

'Of course,' Gilles answered.

'Thank you,' she said, turning and leaving the room.

Raoul could not shake the feeling in the pit of his stomach, he watched the door click shut and felt the foreboding build inside him. He ran to the door.

'Tomorrow at nine am?' He confirmed as he opened the door.

They all nodded, Christine looked confused but he did not have time to explain, he need to catch up to Madame Giry.

He ran out letting the door slam behind him. The corridor was dark and he listened for her footsteps. When he heard them he followed through the hallway and then out of the door leading to the stairs. She was on the landing when he found her.

'Madame!' He called, as she began to descend the staircase.

She turned and looked up at him. 'Yes Vicomte?'

'I need to speak with you,'

'I'm very tired,'

'It will take only a moment, Madame,' He followed her.

'Then would you mind if we talk as we walk?' She asked. 'I really do want to get home, my husband is waiting for me in the lobby,'

When he caught her up she did not look at him, instead her gaze was focused on the steps in front of her. The cane in her hand clanked on the wood.

'You know him,' He stated simply.

_Silence_.

'Tell me,'

'I know nothing,'

'Madame,' he pleaded. 'Don't deny it, I see it all now!'

'You see nothing,' She did not sound angry.

'I see that you know who he is,'

'It is true that I knew him once but I do not know him now,' She said. 'We ceased to be friends many years ago,'

'Where is he now?' He asked.

'I couldn't tell you,'

'You couldn't?' he asked, looking across at her. 'Or you simply won't tell me,'

'This is more complicated than you think,' she sighed.

'I understand he is dangerous,' Raoul said. 'We all see it now, we understand,'

She shook her head.

'How do you know him?' He asked.

'I met him when we were children,' She continued to walk, did not even look at him as she spoke. 'He was captive you know? At a carnival,'

'I...'

'No,' She held her hand up to stop him. 'Say nothing you will regret, Vicomte. His story is long and sad, he was badly abused, born into a family that did not want him, tormented by children his own age, shunned by adults... he had _nothing_,'

'Why?' Raoul asked. 'Why would people treat a boy so cruelly?'

'Did Christine not tell you?'

'She said his face was ... not in a good way,'

Madame Giry laughed. 'That would be a gentle and considerate understatement,'

He said nothing.

'He is badly deformed on the right side of his face, hence the mask he wears to cover it,' she said. 'He was born that way, his mother was repulsed, his father died when he was young. She sold him to the carnival... I found him, I felt sorry for him, I freed him,'

'You brought him here,' Raoul felt the realisation hit him.

'I showed him this place,' She answered. 'He liked the theatre, enjoyed music. The only people who were good to him were the other... freaks... at the show,'

'You became friends,'

'Of sorts,'

'Then why did you stop being his friend, Madame?'

'The Phantom is a cold man,' She said. 'Calculating, manipulative... he is a genius but he is not incapable of feeling...'

'He loves Christine,'

'More than he ever thought he could, I'm sure,'

'We need to stop him,'

'I fear that you may not be able to,'

'Won't you help?'

As they got to the bottom of the stairs she finally turned to him, her eyes moist with what looked like tears. 'I have told you all I know,'

'Then...'

'I can help no more,'


	46. Crash and Burn

**A/N: The order of some of this has moved around slightly but its there or there abouts. **

**Chapter 45- Crash and Burn**

Nine the next morning came quickly and sleeplessly. Raoul walked into the lobby to find the managers both drinking steaming coffee, looking very tired. Philippe was standing at the base of the staircase, surveying what was around him. Christine had brought Meg, Madame Giry, Carlotta and Ubaldo Piangi with her, so that they could make a decision about the show first.

His eyes drifted to his fiancées pale face. The usual sparkle in her dark eyes was missing that morning and had been replaced by a dullness reminiscent of the moon covered by clouds. He wanted to walk to her, to take her into his arms and make everything alright, but he knew that he could not.

Philippe walked to the middle of the crowd and looked at each of them in turn before standing on the bottom step of the grand staircase.

'Good morning,' He began. nodding his head. Some people returned the sentiment, most stayed quiet. 'I trust you are all feeling a little better this morning,'

'Not really,' Carlotta huffed.

'I'm sorry to hear that,' Philippe responded calmly. His brother was always so composed, so in control. When there were a lot of people around he controlled the room, commanded their attention. 'The managers and I have been talking this morning and have decided that we, at least for the moment, should go on with this Phantom's Opera,'

'This a joke!' Ubaldo piped up, looking astonished.

'I will not perform it!' Carlotta folded her arms across her body and nodded her head, satisfied that she had made her stance very clear.

'Then you will leave,' Philippe said simply as he looked around him. 'Anyone who refuses to perform in this opera will leave this instant and will not be asked to return, is that understood?'

They all looked up in shock.

'A decision has been made by the managers and by myself and that decision is final,'

There were grumbles and moans around the room but no one left, they all stayed still, waiting for Philippe to continue.

'The casting will be exactly as the instructions say,' he carried on with his speech. 'Christine Daae will play the lead, Ubaldo the male lead, Carlotta your role...'

'Is an insult,' She snapped.

'That it may be but, for the time being, that is the way it is to remain,' Carlotta turned her nose up to the ceiling.

'The score... it is _terrible_,' Ubaldo said, placing a comforting hand on Carlotta's shoulder.

'We agree,' Richard Firmin stepped forward. 'It is ludicrous but I'm afraid, for the sake of this Opera House, we cannot afford to ignore the warnings this time,'

'We have no choice,' Gilles Andre agreed.

'It is already settled, La Carlotta,' Philippe's eyes were warm and he smiled. 'We will get through this, believe me,'

They all murmured to each other but Raoul did not catch what they were saying.

'Now, we have been left several notes which we have not read yet,' Philippe nodded at the managers. 'We thought you should all hear what he has to say,'

It was Gilles who stepped forward first, his face ashen. 'Dear Andre, Re: My Orchestrations. Number one, we need another first bassoon, a player with tone if you could. Number two, the third Trombone needs to go, the man is clearly tone deaf and why he has been with us for so long is basically anybody's guess.'

Richard nodded. 'Dear Firmin, vis a vis my opera,' He rolled his eyes. 'Some chorus members must be sacked. If you could find out which has a sense of pitch. Wisely, I have assigned minor roles to those of our cast that cannot act.'

Carlotta huffed loudly, turning to face the exit so that her back was to Richard. If the situation was not so serious, Raoul would have found this amusing. Instead he felt a wave of dread build inside him.

'So, Miss Daae has the largest role in this Don Juan,' Gilles said.

'Ha,' Carlotta spun around to stare at her. 'She does not have the voice,'

'Signora, _please_,' Richard pleaded.

'Well it is an outrage,'

'Insult,' Ubaldo added, for effect.

'I realise you are upset,' Philippe stepped down from the stairs. 'But it is important that we do this, at least for now,'

'She is the one behind this!' Carlotta pointed a chubby finger at Christine, who simply stared back, wide eyed. _'You_!'

'How dare you,' Christine finally said.

'I'm not a fool,'

'This is not my fault,' Christine looked from Carlotta to Raoul and then to the managers. 'I don't want any of this!'

Raoul stepped towards her. 'We have to do this, we need to... we're going to win, Christine,'

'I don't want to be part of it,' She said, staring right at him.

'Why on earth not?' Andre demanded, staring at her.

'What did she say?' Ubaldo asked.

'I don't want to...'

'She is backing out,' Carlotta was still pointing.

'You have a duty, Miss Daae,' Gilles said.

'I will not sing, duty or not,'

Raoul had heard enough. They had all crowded around her, surrounding her and he could not bear it anymore. He pushed through the small crowd and sat Christine down on the seat by the stair case. He gently touched her shoulders, looking into her eyes. 'Christine...' He whispered softly.

She let her soft, brown eyes settle on his face.

'You don't have to,' He continued, trying to comfort her. 'They can't make you,'

The silence that followed was finally broken by the sound of Madame Giry's calm voice piercing through it.

'I have a note too,' She held the piece of paper in front of her. They all turned to her. 'Fondest greetings to you all,'

'My isn't he a pleasant chap,' Richard sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically.

Madame Giry scowled at him before she continued. 'A few instructions before rehearsals start, Carlotta must be taught to act, I don't want to see her usual trick of strutting around the stage,'

The Diva visibly paled and then shook her head.

'Our Don Juan must lose some weight it isn't healthy in a man of Piangi's age,'

Ubaldo frowned but remained quiet.

Madame Giry coughed. 'My managers, they must both learn that their place is in an office and not in the arts. As for Miss Daae; no doubt she'll do her best, it's true her voice is good but should she wish to excel, she has much still to learn... if pride will allow her to return to her teacher, your obedient friend and Angel,'

Raoul felt as though he had been struck in the head, suddenly, it all felt very simple to him. 'We have all been completely blind!'

They all turned their attention from Madame Giry to him.

'The answer is staring us in the face!'

Philippe stepped towards. 'You have a plan?'

'I do!' Raoul grinned, for the first time in a long time feeling as though he was free. 'This is the chance we have been waiting for, the chance to ensnare our clever friend!'

'We're listening,' Gilles said, eyes fixed on him, looking intently.

'We'll play his game and perform his work,' Raoul continued. 'Let him believe he has got us,'

'Yes...'

'But remember we hold the ace,' he looked at his fiancée. 'For is Miss Daae sings, he is certain to attend...'

He watched as the realisation began to show on the manager's faces. Philippe nodded and smiled at him, no doubt proud of his younger brother.

Gilles spoke next. 'We make certain the doors are barred and guarded with armed men!'

'And when the curtain falls,' Raoul nodded. 'His reign will end,'

It was Madame Giry who called out. 'Madness!'

'Madness?' Gilles asked. 'It's brilliant,'

'It's not madness if it works, Madame,' Raoul smiled.

'Exactly, the tide will turn,'

Madame Giry shook her head. 'There is no way of turning the tide!'

Raoul argued back and the room erupted into chaos, he could vaguely make out Carlotta arguing with Firmin, as Philippe looked on in bemusement. Antoinette Giry was shaking her head, her face paler than he had ever seen it, but he had to talk her around. Somehow she needed to understand that this was there only way.

Though he knew it wasn't true he said, 'Or could it be that you're on his side?'

Gilles eyes widened and he stared at Madame Giry whose posture was slumped, not the way he was used to. She shook her head again, palms up as if to show him she had nothing to hide. 'I only want what is best for the people here,'

'Then you must help us, Madame,' He continued to prod, trying to get her aid. With the help of someone who knew him they at least had a fighting chance of succeeding. Raoul would not fool himself into believing that ensnaring the infamous phantom was going to be an easy task yet he had to look confident, show the others how ready he was to end the madness.

'I can't help,' she looked away as the shouting continued around them. 'I know nothing of any use to you,'

As the noise is the room became louder and the panic more pronounced the usually small voice of his Christine pierced through the chaos. 'If you don't stop I will go mad!'

Silence dropped like a curtain around the lobby as they all turned to look at Christine.

'Raoul...' Her voice was soft.

'We need your help,' He coaxed gently.

'I know,' Her face was grey, her eyes bloodshot and tired, as she looked up at him. 'Raoul, I'm frightened,'

He stared at her, the pain she was feeling, the fear, it was painted on her face, in the darkness of her usually sparkling eyes. At the thought of her hurting his own heart began to ache, the very sight of her in so much anguish filled him with pain.

'We need you,' He managed to say, through the thickness of his throat.

'Don't make me do this,' She whispered, leaning towards him. 'Don't put me through this ordeal... he'll take me, I know he will, he'll take me and we'll be parted forever, he won't let me go,'

Raoul, not caring about the other people in the room with them, wrapped his arms around her tightly, he gave her a squeeze, pressure to let her know that she was not alone. He would always be there for her. He hoped that she felt it though her body as he hugged her, hoped that she felt his spirit, his fight, his support.

She pulled away and her eyes met his. 'What I once used to dream I now dread, you realise if he finds me it won't ever end?'

Raoul touched her face gently with his fingertips. 'I'm here to guard you, remember?'

'He'll always be there,' Her eyes were looking right through him. 'Always, we'll never escape,'

Carlotta's voice broke through the uncomfortable silence. 'She's mad,'

Raoul twisted his neck around and glared at her hard. 'Be quiet,'

She rolled her eyes.

When he turned his attention back on Christine she was staring into space, as if she was somewhere else. 'Christine,' He said softly.

She blinked. 'Raoul...'

'You said yourself he is nothing but a man,' He kept his voice as soft as he could, he wanted her to know that he was always on her side. 'But while he lives he will haunt us until we die,'

A sigh escaped her and it felt like a punch to his heart. 'What answer can I give?'

He reached out and took her hands in his.

'You're asking me to risk our lives so that we win the chance to live,' Her eyes were on his face, he felt their intensity. 'He kills without a thought and he murders all that's good... yet...'

'Christine, you're our only chance,' Raoul squeezed her hand gently. 'Don't think that I don't care but every hope we've got rests on you now,'

She nodded her agreement but it was half hearted.

He turned and looked around him, found Philippe's face in the crowd and gave him a short, sharp nod. 'So,' he said, looking around him. 'It is to be war between us but this time clever friend, the disaster will be _yours_!'


	47. Tangled

**Chapter 46- Tangled**

Erik looked on in disbelief from the ledge that ran around the top of the lobby in the Opera Populaire. What were they thinking? He had already caused them enough trouble to last them a lifetime yet they were determined to fight him, seemingly, at his very own level. Of course, they were not on his level. He had been watching, listening, he had heard their plan and knowledge was power.

Now Raoul was a problem. That boy really did think that he was something. To deal with him early or to leave him for a while, that was becoming his decision. His first instinct had been to jump down from the ledge and kill him that second, the moment he put his hands on Christine. Now, calming, he realised that the best way to deal with these people, the boy in particular, was to let them believe that they actually had a chance.

Lull them into a false sense of security, let them think that they have a plan good enough to out smart him. They didn't, of course, Erik had already planned for this eventuality. His original plan would have caused proved less destructive but now, through no fault of his own, the plan needed to change and therefore there would have to be at least one death. It would not be a terrible loss but it would pain him ever so slightly to do it. Still, he expected that his guilt, or whatever it was that he felt, would disappear as soon as he had Christine safely in his home.

Nadir had, of course, suggested that he take a far simpler approach and just find Christine alone and explain the situation. The question was, would she believe him? The answer to that was very simply, no, or in the best case scenario, probably not. Talking to her was going to be no good until he had taken her back to his home. He had packed some bags, brought her some clothes and other woman like things, and he was prepared to simply run with her. When he was younger, or rather, before he met Christine, he would have relished the prospect of a confrontation with Gabriele Aiton, but now he simply wanted to get her out safely. Nadir would be waiting to help them run to Persia where they would, with the old Daroga's friends, be perfectly safe from Gabriele and his underlings.

Letting his eyes settle onto Christine one last time, he felt that usual thud in his heart, the surprise he always felt at how beautiful she was. Every single time he saw her it was as if he was seeing her for the first time. He would notice subtle differences, new things about her, things he had never seen before. Today he spotted the way her head tilted, ever so slightly, to the right while she was concentration on a conversation. Her hair was falling a little to that side and the sun from the high windows was tinting it golden.

He shook his head and turned away. This was no good, this was a distraction... this was torture. He shuffled from the ledge, through a small gap in the wall, and placed his feet on the floor behind it. The corridor he found himself in was thin but just wide enough for his shoulders. The darkness surrounded him and he felt at home. The passage was low down and, therefore, he had to duck his head as he followed it to the space just above the auditorium. When he stepped out he looked at the stage and felt his heart swell.

One of his two loves. _Music_.

One of the pianists was warming himself up with some key changes and Erik stopped to listen for a moment, taken in by the beautiful playing. Many of the people in orchestra at the Opera Populaire were talented people who had been there for many years and seen many changes. He liked to listen to this particular musician, there was a certain purity in the way he played.

After a few minutes he followed the sides of the room until he was in another corridor behind the stage, from there he worked his way down to the floor carefully, and then down into one of his hidden doors, leading down to the corridors he had created beneath the theatre.

It always took his some time to get back to his home but he always relished the journey. The traps and the maze was something he had created, something he was safe within. It was difficult to find your way in, more difficult to get back out again. There was a good chance if anyone ever actually made it into his home they would die trying to get out.

He was very proud of it.

When he hooked the boat to its anchor he took off his cloak and placed it over the back of one of the chairs. He sat at the organ situated at the back of the room, choosing its harsher sounds over that of his piano, and lost himself in the music of Don Juan.

By the time Nadir arrived, Erik was suitably relaxed, more calm than he had felt in quite sometime.

'Good Evening,' Nadir said, as he poured himself a small brandy.

'Help yourself,' Erik snorted, turning to face the smaller man.

'It's a good job I do,' Nadir smiled. 'A person could die of thirst if it was left up to you,'

Erik nodded and stood, walking to the kitchen area. 'Have you secured our passage?'

'Yes,'

'And we're prepared?'

Nadir answered with a nod and Erik fell silent, letting the weight of the situation rest on his shoulders. The Persian's small frame was completely still, his stocky shoulders cast a wide shadow on the table. They both stood still for a long time, neither knowing exactly what to say. What Erik was going to do was dangerous, he knew it. He was going to leave himself completely exposed, let himself be open to anything and everything. Though he was prepared for most eventualities he could not prepare for just pure dumb luck.

There was always a chance that one of the guards would get a lucky shot in and he would be hurt. Usually, death would be quite a welcome friend. For many years he had prayed for it to take him but his prayers, as always, went unanswered. Now he feared death but not for the fact that he would die but for that fact that Christine would be left alone.

If indeed it was a trap then perhaps Gabriele would let her be but somehow, Erik could not see that happening. Gabriele, like Erik, was a man of plans. He rarely did anything on impulse, weighing the pros against the cons. If Gabriele had decided to take Christine, trap or no trap, then he would, almost certainly, take her.

'Are you worried?' Nadir asked.

'No,' He lied.

Nadir eyed him for a moment and then sipped his drink, apparently satisfied with the answer. 'What do you intend to do with her if she won't go?'

'She will,'

Nadir smiled. 'I think she might resist,'

'I'll explain,'

'Things can go wrong,'

'I'm aware of that, Daroga,'

'All I'm saying is that there is a likelihood she won't want to go with you, will you take her against her will?'

Erik thought for a moment. 'Yes,'

'Kidnapping,' Nadir laughed. 'New for you,'

'She will understand,'

'I don't think she's going to want to be taken away from Raoul,'

Erik felt a burning in his chest. 'She will come with me,'

'Alright,'

'She _will_!'  
_  
'Alright_,'

He slumped into the chair and leaned his elbows on the table. 'I need to make her understand,'

The Persian nodded. 'That it's for her own good?'

'Yes,'

'For the record, Erik, I still think you should contact the De Chagny's,'

Erik opened his mouth to berate the smaller man but Nadir quickly held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. 'Just for the record,'

Erik stared at Nadir for a moment, let his eyes settle on the Persian's weathered, yet kind, face.

'Pour me a brandy,'

* * *

The sun was beginning to set over the trees that lined the horizon sending strokes of bright orange and pink over the winter sky. Christine had always enjoyed the view from the edge of the city, where the pebble stone turned to dirt and the grey became green. She had taken Monsieur Andre's horse and come out to the edges of town so that she could get some freedom, get some peace. The cool air was giving her brain a much needed blast.

_Thinking_.

And of course, as she was thinking, she was riding.

Before she realised it the sky was getting darker and when she turned around she could barely make out the buildings of Paris. At first she did not know where she was going, it was as if the horse was guiding her, but she soon realised where it was that she was heading. The fields opened out once again, one side paralleled by woodland, the other showing a small village. She once had a friend in that village.

She was not far from _home_.

If she had been asked she would have insisted that there was no chance that she would ever remember the way here but, as she looked around her, she knew. The church was some distance away, as she had entered the yard from the back, but it was as magnificent as she remembered.

_And as haunting._

The gravestones surrounded her now as she climbed from the horse and then gently stroked his nose with the palm of her hand. He made a noise that sounded remarkably like contentment and she patted him before tying him up carefully. The managers did not know that she was gone.

They certainly did not know she had the horse.

The two men had far more to worry about at the moment that a missing horse and she was more than sure she would return it before they noticed it was gone.

It was dropping cold now and she could see the mist of her breath in front of her face. She made her way slowly, quietly, through the graveyard until she found what she was looking for. Opposite quite a grand monument was her father's small, modest, headstone. There were no flowers on it and she felt a pang of guilt as she walked towards it. Had she let him down?

Her heart began to feel heavy as she ran her finger along the cool edge of the headstone, reading his name. Charles Daae, beloved father...

She felt a lump rise into her throat.

'Christine,'

She spun around, recognising the voice immediately. It was Erik but she could not see him. How had he known that she was here, she saw no one following her... but then again, she had not really been paying much attention, had she?

'Wandering child...' His voice was soft, too quiet, and he almost sounded sad. It was devoid of the usual authority and instead was replaced with the softness she remembered from their talks.

'Where are you?' She managed to say, looking around her.

'You look so lost,' He said, without answering her question. 'So helpless,'

'Erik...'

He stepped out from behind the statue on the monument, he was above her, all in black, a hat, a black shirt, black trousers, black cloak... white mask.

'You need guidance,' He was looking down at her, his voice gentle when he spoke. Even from a distance she could see the sharp blue of his eyes, the way they pierced into her. Somehow her feet began to move towards him, her mind was overridden by something else, and she edged his way.

'Come on,' He crouched down and reached his hand out. 'I need to talk to you,'

Christine raised her hand, she was only inches away from him when she heard the sound of thundering hooves behind her. Still, she did not turn her head away from Erik, she stared into his eyes as her hand got nearer to his.

'Christine!'

It was Raoul's voice, she ignored it, stepped forward slightly.

'No!' Raoul was shouting. 'Christine, stop, stop it! Come back,'

She blinked, just a split second, she saw Erik's outstretched hand, the way his eyes explored her face. The feeling that she was the only person alive.

'I need...' The words seemed to stick in his throat and he stopped, turning his attention from her and looking over her head. Despite this, despite everything going on around her, her eyes stay focused on his face, on his lips, on his eyes...

'Stop!' Raoul's voiced pierced the silence and she could now hear his footsteps getting closer.

'Go away,' Erik said simply, calmly. Christine's heart thudded.

'Leave her alone!'

'Don't be a fool, boy,' Erik stood up straight, moving his hand out of Christine's reach. She watched him.

'Christine, please turn around,'

She didn't, couldn't.

'She doesn't want to,' Erik's voice was level and controlled.

'What have you done to her?'

'Nothing,'

'Madman,' Raoul's tone was growing more frantic and Christine knew that she should turn to him, look at him, but she couldn't. 'Christine, please!'

'Christine,' Erik spoke, softly. 'Come to me, come closer,'

She stepped towards the monument until she was almost touching it and reached her hand out again. Just as their fingertips brushed together, just as she felt the tingle in her skin, a jolt hit her from the side and she was suddenly rolling on the floor.

When the momentum stopped and she managed to catch her breath she stared at Raoul, lying by her side. She blinked.

'It's alright,' He said gently. 'You're fine,'

She turned her head, still dazed, looking for Erik, frantically searching for him, wondering if Raoul had hurt him in the commotion. 'Where is he?'

Raoul, too, turned his head. 'I don't know,'

'He must be here somewhere,'

Raoul pushed himself to his feet and walk cautiously towards the grave, looking around him at every step.

'He's gone,' Raoul said and she felt an eerie cool wash over her.


	48. My Sacrifice

**A/N: These are shorter chapters slightly... not really sure why.**

****

**Anyway, thanks for all of the reviews. RR**

**Chapter 47- My Sacrifice**

The ride back to the Opera Populaire was done in complete silence between them. There would have been no sound at all in the darkening night had it not been for the gentle clicking of the horses hooves on the stones beneath them. Raoul did not understand what had happened, he could barely open his mouth it was so dry, let alone talk.

Christine was just ahead of him riding Gilles Andre's beautiful chestnut mare. Raoul watched the gentle rise and fall, watched Christine's hair move with the rocking of the horse. The pain in his heart was almost too much to bear and too difficult to think about. He needed to ignore it, he needed to _not_ think about it.

When they finally arrived back at the outskirts of Paris Raoul lifted the pace of the stallion and caught up to Christine so that he was riding by her side. She took a quick sideways glance at him, her cheeks slightly red, and then turned away. The quiet between them continued until they reached the stable area at the back of the theatre.

He climbed from his horse and helped Christine from the one she was riding. Her hand was cold. Handing the reigns of both horses over to two of the main staff he turned to Christine.

'How did you know?' She asked quietly.

Raoul looked at her, unsure what she was asking him.

'How did you know that I was there?'

'I spoke to Madame Giry once we realised you were missing,'

She blinked. 'You must have realised quite quickly,'

He shrugged his shoulders, felt a pang in his chest. 'I just noticed you were gone, Monsieur Andre noticed his horse was gone,'

'How did she knew where I was?'

'She didn't,' Raoul answered. 'She guessed,'

Christine paused. 'I'm sorry,'

'Its fine,' Raoul assured her, though in his heart it was anything but. 'Did he hurt you?'

She stared at him for a long moment before shaking her head. 'You still don't see it,'

'What?' He opened the door for her and allowed her to step through it.

'He would not hurt me,' She took her scarf from around her neck and unbuttoned her jacket as she walked. 'I've said it before and I'll say it again; he would no more hurt me than you would,'

Raoul sighed as he followed her, offering to carry her coat. She shook her head.

'How did he know you were there?' Raoul asked.

'I don't know,' she said softly. 'I didn't even know I was going until I was practically there. It wasn't thought out, it wasn't a conscious decision, I just headed that way,'

'He must have followed you,'

She nodded. 'Did you know it has been nearly a year since I have been to my father's grave?'

He shook his head in answer.

'I haven't been since the funeral,' He heard the catch in her voice, he knew that she was holding back tears. 'I'm an awful person, Raoul, I have neglected his memory,'

Raoul circled around so that he was standing in front of her, stopping her from walking. He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead gently. 'You have neglected nothing but yourself this past year, Christine,'

She said nothing in response.

'Listen to me,' He said. 'I love you more than anything but you do worry me sometimes. When you were gone you had us all in a panic, I turned to Madame Giry because I had no one else. She said that she had no clue where you had gone but there was a possibility you would visit your father... I was so worried he had taken you and then, when I arrived, he was trying to do _just_ that,'

She stared but remained silent.

'I was afraid,' He took in a breath. 'I was afraid that I would lose you forever, I couldn't bear it,'

'Raoul...' A tear ran along her cheek.

'I love you so much,'

'I know,'

He swallowed, dread building inside him. 'Do you love me still?'

The silence that followed nearly burst his ears as he waited for what seemed an eternity for a response. She was looking at him, eyes wet and soft, with almost pity. 'Of course,'

He almost sighed out loud in relief but she looked so confused, so strange, that he did not understand what was happening.

He had witnessed her in some sort of trance walking towards that monster as if she could trust him, as if _he_ were Raoul. The punch of jealousy in his chest hit him like a bolt of lightening, nearly knocking him off balance. The jealousy mixed with his pain, his anger and his worry for Christine, all of this was a cauldron of bubbling uncertainty.

He once thought that one day his life would be perfect. He would turn out nothing like his father, marry a woman that he loved with all of his heart, treat her well and have children with her. Now he found himself with the woman of his dreams but worried about holding on to her.

What did that man have over her? Why was she so inclined to go to him?

* * *

'I should never listen to you!' Erik roared as he slammed the palms of his hands onto the table in his home. Nadir was sitting in the chair opposite him wanting to flinch away but knowing he could not. This was not a power play, not by any means, but Nadir could not show weakness to Erik, not now. It was like showing your wound to your predator.

Erik was furious, the gold and silver flecks shimmered in his usually solid blue eyes. Nadir watched him move away from the table, pace back and forth, before turning his attention back on Nadir.

'I told you it was a terrible idea,' Erik snarled. 'You'd think I would trust my own judgement after all this time wouldn't you?'

Nadir shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. 'You've been wrong before,'

'Yes, thank you for that, Daroga, most helpful,' His eyes were on fire.

'At least you tried,' Nadir said, much more calmly than he felt.

'Waste of energy,' The younger man snapped back. 'I should have stuck to my _first_ plan, my _first_ instinct,'

'I believe you should try again,' Nadir stared at him, trying to keep his gaze from wavering. _Show no weakness.  
_  
Erik made a sound that was almost like a painful laugh. 'Are you joking with me? _Now_?'

'I'm not joking, Erik,'

'Then you've lost your mind,'

'You were halfway there,' Nadir said. 'You said yourself that she was coming to you, she was willing to listen,'

'Until that boy got there,'

'Then try to get her alone again,' Nadir paused before adding. 'With out kidnapping her,'

'How do you think that will be possible now?' Erik asked, running his fingers through his hair. 'De Chagny will not let her out of his sight,'

Nadir nodded, knowing that it was the truth. The fact of the matter was that Erik's plan was pure genius, as with most of his ideas. Despite this there was a large element of danger to the idea and therefore, Nadir had been trying to talk him out of it for days.

He had almost succeeded. Had Raoul De Chagny not interrupted then Christine would probably be with them now.

This was not to be.

'So we go ahead with my original plan,' Erik said, placing his hands on the back of one of the chairs.

'It looks that way,'

Erik's gaze shifted and he seemed to be looking off into space. Nadir had seen this look many times in the previous months, it was often followed by a long sigh and a period of silence. Nadir watched his friend for a moment.

'She was beautiful tonight,' Erik sighed. 'What am I supposed to do, Nadir?'

Nadir blinked at the use of his name, he was usually referred to as 'Daroga' or 'Persian'.

'About what?' He asked.

'Her,'

'You're going to save her,'

Erik glanced at him briefly before looking away, over the lake. 'I'm going to save her but she isn't going to love me,'

Nadir did not know what to say.

'She loves the boy,'

Nadir nodded.

'Not me,'

Erik looked solemn, sad, almost so unlike himself that Nadir was beginning to get worried about him again. He found it difficult to believe that Christine had no feelings for Erik at all, a good chunk of him thought that she loved him too. She had been willing to overlook certain details of his life, she was willing to come to his cold and secluded home, she was prepared to trust him, prepared to spend time with him. Nadir looked back at the Phantom.

'I rarely agree with your methods,' He said. 'But at least your reasons are more just than usual,'

This made Erik smile slightly, just a small upturn in the corner of his mouth, but it was there. Erik was not completely without a sense of humour, in fact, over the years, Nadir had found him to have the best sense of humour of anyone he knew... he just did not laugh often. His quips were always lightly spoken and lightening quick, his face completely unmoved.

One might call it dry humour, he thought.

'It is not the journey that matters,' Erik said. 'Only the destination,

Nadir shook his head. 'The journey matters. It is the journey that changes us,'

Again, Erik's mouth twitched in the mist of a smile.

'We both have had our journeys, Erik,' he continued. 'I'm getting old and I'm getting tired, let this one with you and Christine be my last,'

Erik nodded. 'I won't call upon you again after this,'

'It's not the help I mind,' He smiled at the younger man. 'It's the battling... I will help you fetch dinner and I will help you prune roses or clean bowls and cups but the fight... your _constant_ battle with everything around you...'

'I understand,'

'I know you do,' Nadir stood and walked to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. It would probably have looked an odd sight, Nadir thought that Erik was six or seven inches taller than he was, but he did it anyway. It was rare for him to be so close to Erik or to attempt to reach out to him but in the end Erik was all he had. 'You're like my brother,'

Erik blinked, frowned a little, but said nothing.

'Neither of us has known much kindness in our lives but, strangely, the cruellest man I know is the man that has shown me the most affection,'

'Me?'

'Yes,' Nadir nodded. 'You,'

'I'm often cruel to you,'

Nadir patted his shoulder and moved away. 'Not really,' he said. 'You have a cruel mouth with me but I've seen you at your very worst and the way you are with me is nothing like that,'

Erik did not reply.

'I just thought you should know this because in a couple of nights one or both of us may be dead,' Nadir took a long breath, this was something he never thought he would say, particularly not to another man. 'I love you, Erik, you are my friend and you are my brother,'


	49. Its a New Dawn

**A/N: Filler chapter**

**Chapter 48- It's a New Dawn**

Christine sat alone in the darkness behind the stage. She could hear the rehearsals continuing on without her, she heard people moving, people singing, the orchestra tuning... her mind was torn in places she did not even realise existed. The whole affair had not only hurt her relationship with Raoul but had damaged her reputation with the rest of the cast.

She had been rehearsing with them on ten minutes earlier but the others looked at her with such disdain that she could no longer take anymore. It was nice to be alone for a while, Raoul had barely left her side in just over a week, she felt like she could hardly breath. She wondered if he followed her because he was afraid she might leave or that he was simply worried for her safety.

Over the last few months she had grown tired of telling Raoul that Erik would never hurt her. The whole thing was getting beyond repetitive. She understood that he loved her and that his natural instinct was to protect her but what he could not understand was that it wasn't her that needed protecting.

_It was him._

As she looked around she caught a glimpse of Raoul deep in conversation with one of the managers. She watched as his hands moved, animating the subject, as he spoke rapidly. Gilles Andre was nodding, seemingly in agreement, but it was Raoul's intensity that got her attention. He looked so serious, so earnest.

She loved him.

When he looked over he waved his hand and began to make his way to her. Automatically, she straightened her back, smoothed her dress and took a deep breath. Things had been a little strange between them recently and she wanted it to end, wanted things to be back to the way they were before.

He leant down and cheekily kissed her cheek. 'There's no one looking,'

She smiled at him.

'How are you this morning?' he asked.

'I'm fine,'

'You look terribly pale,'

'Tired,' she forced a smile.

He took her hand. 'I'm not surprised,'

They stared at each other for a long moment, watching, waiting but for what, she did not know. The softness in his eyes almost broke her heart, she felt as though, by letting her mind drift to Erik, she was betraying him. Raoul was probably the best man she had ever known, the most noble and honest, the most beautiful and she did not want to hurt him.

She knew that Raoul would hate the thought but Erik was part of her life. She might not be his friend any longer but he had been her mentor and he would always be a part of her. The knowledge that she had needed to let him go was hard, she had thrown him out in fury. She could never forgive him for what he had done to her father.

It was not as though she thought Erik had murdered him but he had more than a partial role in his death. Erik had given Gabriele the funding to do his bidding, Gabriele had leant this money to her father- a man they knew had little or no chance of paying it back, who was already ill- and her father  
had passed away before the debt had been repaid.

Christine knew how it worked. Gabriele Aiton would have taken the monetary repayments, a profit to him as it was not his money he leant out, and then Erik would have taken the home. It was a scam, of course, Gabriele prayed on the weak, but she was sure there was a legal loophole. What was not legal was what they did to the people who did not pay.

She had gone out of her way over the past six months to learn all she could about so called 'loan sharks' and she had found that they often beat people, sometimes killed them, in order to obtain their assets. She had no doubt that this was what Gabriele did.

Possibly, what Erik did too.

'Come,' Raoul said, breaking into her thoughts. 'Let me get you some lunch,'

She nodded.

'Smile for me, Christine,' His voice was soft and welcoming, pleading with her to be the person he knew so well. She wanted to be that person for him, she wanted to be young Christine Daae without a care in the world. She just wasn't sure that she could.

She stood. 'Alright,'

When her smile spread over her lips, it was genuine, she made herself think his strong arms, his playfulness, her scarf in the sea...

He took her arm. 'We will find Mrs Leroux, she is around somewhere,'

'We wouldn't want you taking advantage,' she smiled.

He laughed. 'No,' he said. 'Quite right,'

They walked along the back of the stage and then out through the side door into the corridor. Meg was kneeling down, adjusting her shoes, she looked up and smiled at them.

'Are you alright?' she asked, her eyes on Christine.

'I'm fine,'

'Don't mind them, you know,' Meg continued. 'They are only jealous of you,'

Christine nodded. 'I do love you, Meg,'

'And so you should,'

'I'll see you later,'

Meg nodded.

Christine and Raoul moved away, following the corridor to the back door.

'What was all that?' he asked, when they got outside into the fresh air, away from anyone who might overhear.

'What?'

'I mean with Meg,' he replied. 'Why was she saying that?'

'Oh it's nothing,' she brushed the question aside and started to stride forward.

'Christine,' Raoul caught her up. 'Tell me,'

'Some of the cast members are being a little mean to me, that's all, they are just worried,'

Raoul stopped walking and frowned. 'We can't have that!'

'Raoul...'

'I won't allow them to treat you that way,'

'This is exactly the problem,'

Raoul's face twisted into a confused frown.

'They think I am being favoured and if you run in there telling them to leave me alone then it will all be confirmed and things will be worse for me,'

He did not move, instead his eyes implored her, he was looking at her so hard she backed away from him.

'I don't ever want to make anything worse for you,' he said softly, eyes softening to anguish.

'Oh, Raoul...'

'I'm sorry,'

She sighed, taking his hand in hers. 'This is not your fault,'

He shook his head. 'I'm sorry,'

'Please, let us get lunch and stop this,' she said, squeezing his fingertips gently. 'It's nonsense and they will all get over it. Rehearsals are going well, we shall be quite ready for Saturday and then we'll see what happens,'

'Of course,' He took a breath. 'The plan will go our way and then no one will have to worry, we can all get back to normality,'

Christine nodded but felt a jolt in her heart. If the plan works then Erik will be captured and almost certainly sentence to death.

Could she live with herself if she was the one who condemned Erik, once her angel, to death?

* * *

Antoinette smiled at the maid as she placed the dishes in the centre of the dining room table. Meg sat to her left, Laurent to her right and Scott was opposite her. Scott said grace, thanking God that they had everything they needed and each other, and then he stood and began to hand the dishes around.

Things had been a little strange since her conversation with Laurent about Erik. Antoinette was angry with Erik, angry that he could take advantage of people in such desperate positions. It was strange but the people he killed, whether right or wrong, could at least defend themselves. These people this company targeted were poor, often ill, usually desperate. The rate of the loan was always ridiculously high and the money, one way or another, had to be paid back.

Apparently, the company made a tidy profit.

The reason for Laurent's beating was that he was going to inform Erik that the company were turning in on him. They intended to take him out, kill him if necessary. Laurent had insisted to her that Erik knew very little about the company's actual dealings or the details of them, instead he simply put money in and made his return. It was rare for Erik to involve himself with the collection or even with the company meetings.

Laurent had also stumbled on the fact that Gabriele was spending profits on his gambling habit and that the company and it's members, basically had nothing left. The plan was to take Erik's wealth which they were sure he had plenty of.

'Pass the potato, please,' Meg reached her arm across the table and took the bowl from her uncle, who smiled warmly. His injuries were basically healed now and though she would never forgive him she had found a way to live with him. The bridges were coming back together, albeit slowly.

Laurent took the gravy bowl and poured some onto his plate. 'When does this new show open then?'

'Saturday night,'

'They certainly like to put a rush on things there,' Scott said.

Laurent nodded. 'A little soon isn't it?'

'Not really,' Antoinette answered. 'We have a good, strong cast, hard work and an excellent director,'

'Well, I hope it will be a success, as many of the others have,' Scott raised his glass. 'To Antoinette's final show at the Opera Populaire,'

Meg and Laurent raised their glasses and, reluctantly, Antoinette followed,they clinked them, laughed and joked but her heart felt heavy. When the run of Don Juan was complete she planned to hand in her notice as ballet mistress. She knew that it was time, she could no longer protect Erik and she was getting tired, her hip was getting worse with age.

'I have tickets for you both for opening night,' Antoinette said. 'You can come and see the performance, see Meg at her very best,'

She smiled affectionately at her daughter feeling her heart swell with pride.

'You make me sound much better than I am,' Meg smiled then looked at Laurent. 'Don't get your hopes up,'

'Oh, but I will,' Laurent grinned. 'So you will just have to prove your mother right,'

'You put too much pressure on me, Uncle Laurent,'

'Who says you can't handle it?'

She giggled. 'I suppose we will just have to wait and see,'

'Why Meg, you're blushing,'

'It's your fault! You and mother,'

Laurent's smile was warm and genuine. 'You bring it on yourself, Meg, you shouldn't be so good at what you do if you don't want the adulation. I think, someday, you will be very famous,'

'Hush,' Meg's cheeks glowed red and Antoinette found herself laughing.

Scott had fallen strangely silent during this exchange and Antoinette sought to catch his attention. He looked distant and when his eyes met hers he smiled, tipping his glass slightly. He too, looked sad and she couldn't help but wonder why.


	50. Never Again

**A/N: Only 3 Chapters this weeks as I really thought this should be the chapter I ended this update on. **

**RR**

**Chapter 49- Never Again**

Meg sneaked a quick peek through the curtains in the centre of the stage. Turning around she smiled at the other dancers.

'It's full,'

They all nodded, grins on their faces. All of the actors, the singers, the managers... all of them were worried about the Phantom but not the dancers. They were just all excited to see another full room, another eager crowd. The chorus had become so accustomed to the Phantom's presence over the years that, though they feared him, they had a quiet ease about him. Meg was probably the most afraid of him yet even she felt something of a calm inside her that evening.

If the managers wanted to play games with him she was sure that the fate would be there's alone and not the dancers, providing that they did their jobs and stayed out of the way. Every dancer had expressed their concern for the plan to capture the Ghost but it all fell of deaf ears, they were fairly low in the pecking order when it came to the decisions of the theatre.

Meg risked another glance out and spotted her father and Laurent sliding into their seats close to the front. She wished that she could catch their attention and wave to them. It was good to know that they were there supporting her.

Her eyes drifted around and at every corner was a guard or a police officer, all in the dark uniform and hats. It dampened her mood slightly. It was not that she did not want them to catch the Phantom, he had murdered people, but she wished they would do their investigation at some other time instead of using her friend as some sort of bait.

When she stepped back she spotted Christine sitting alone in the corner, her face was grey and she looked ready to fall down. Meg approached her slowly, trying to judge if she should call for help.

'Christine?'

Her friend looked up. 'Meg,'

'Are you alright?' She frowned and placed a hand on Christine's shoulder.

'Yes, I'm fine,'

'Are you ill?'

'Really,' Christine said. 'I'm fine,'

Meg paused for a moment, looking carefully at Christine's pale face. 'As long as you're sure,'

'Worried,' The word came out as a strangled whisper.

'Why?' Meg asked but she thought she knew anyway.

'Him,'

'The Phantom?'

Christine nodded. 'My teacher,'

'He is a killer,'

Christine looked at her, eyes wide, but said nothing. She neither agreed nor disagreed with the statement, instead she looked at Meg with pain and moisture in her eyes. Meg wondered if she would cry but she jumped to her feet.

'No use with this,'

Meg was confused. 'What?'

'This moping around,' Christine took a long breath. 'It's doing me no good,'

Meg stepped closer to her friend and whispered, so no one else heard, 'You don't have to do this,'

'I have no choice,'

'You always have a choice,'

Christine kissed her cheek, 'Not in this,' she said with a frightening finality.

* * *

The gas lights were set low and, as Louis looked out at the almost impossibly huge crowd, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. Word had most certainly made its way to Erik Lambourne and in his attempt to rescue Christine, he had sealed his own fate. He stood in silence, with a programme in hand, waiting for the crowd to settle before he took his seat right at the back. Gabriele had told him to meet him at the rear of the theatre in around a half an hour. 

Slowly, people began to get comfortable in their seats and Louis felt that it was safe enough for him to settle into his seat. He was sitting next to an attractive young couple who smiled a greeting at him.

'Your first opera?' The young woman asked in a whisper.

'No,' Louis answered and the sound of his own voice made him cringe, did he really sound so gruff? Another glance at the blonde told him that he did, she was leaning away, looking uncomfortable.

In an attempt to make up for himself he smiled at the man with her. 'Do you come to the Opera Populaire often?' He was quite pleased with the softened tone.

The man seemed to relax, as did the woman. 'No, actually we don't,'

The blonde smiled. 'We heard this was a little... unorthodox, so we decided we would come to see it... how lucky to get tickets on opening night, wouldn't you agree?'

Louis nodded. 'Definitely,'

'Secretly my husband is hoping to catch a glimpse of the infamous Phantom of the Opera, there was a news report that he had returned,'

'Is that so?' Louis raised his eyebrows. If only you knew, he thought.

The woman was nodding earnestly and, although her husband looked embarrassed, there was something else in his eyes, something twinkling there. As Louis was about to speak again the orchestra began to play, filling the room with a gentle sound that led into something faster, more violent. Louis took a quick glance to the woman on his left, her face was creased in a frown, as if confused by the music.

Louis admitted, it wasn't what he was expecting either, but he couldn't say that he disliked it. He was no expert and he thought that that was what made him a good critic. The music was raw and direct, there were no overtly complicated parts and Louis could barely tear his eyes away from the stage. Then she appeared.

Christine glided onto the stage, her dress tugged her waist in, and she moved gently from side to side, allowing her voice to be heard. Louis was so caught up in the performance he did not notice the police officer to his left.

'Excuse me, Monsieur,' The voice was quiet and Louis had to strain to hear him, yet he could not take his eyes away from the stage. 'Monsieur, could you follow me please?'

As irritated by the interruption as he was, he knew that by refusing a police officer he could very well scupper the plans they had already made. He sighed loudly and stood, gesturing to the couple sitting with him that he would be right back.

The policeman turned his back and led Louis out of the door almost directly to his left. The officer guarding that door was staring at the stage and, without looking, gave a quick nod as the two men passed him. When they got into the cold corridor the officer walked off ahead and this only added to Louis' growing anger.

He followed nearly half way down before he said, 'Where are we going?'

The officer did not answer, instead he held up a gloved hand and beckoned him closer. Louis stepped forward.

'What is this all about, Monsieur?' he demanded. 'I have paid for my ticket, I wish to watch the opera,'

When he was ignored again he placed his hand roughly on the policeman's shoulder in an attempt to turn him around and make him answer. It did not go according to plan. The police officer grabbed his wrist and flung him to the ground as though he were a rag. Lying face down on the dirty floor made dust shoot into his throat and he coughed out a harsh sound.

'Now, now Louis,' The officer said. 'You need to learn to control your temper,'

Now the man's voice was easier to hear and there was absolutely no doubt that Erik had returned. Louis tried to roll onto his back so that he could fight back but Erik's foot found a nerve in his spine and rendered Louis' legs basically useless.

'Where is Gabriele?' Erik asked.

'I don't know,' Louis felt Erik's foot grind into his back. The pain was almost unbearable.

'Don't lie to me,'

Louis winced at the pressure. 'I really don't ... _know_,' he managed to somehow push the words out.

'Where are you to meet him?'

To lie would be foolish. 'Behind the theatre in around ten minutes,'

'Good,'

Louis coughed again, his throat dry and swollen.

'How many are with him?'

'I don't know,' The pain in his back intensified again and Louis felt very faint. 'I'm telling you the truth,'

'No educated guess?' Erik was mocking him.

'All of them,' He gasped for air. 'I think they are all coming,'

Erik knelt by his side and out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of white. His tormenter leaned closer to his ear, so that his lips were almost touching it. 'You were going to hurt her,' His voice was a sinister whisper.

'No,' Louis exclaimed with every bit of energy he had. _'God_ no! He wanted you to come back,'

Erik moved his head over to Louis' other ear. 'You were going to take her somewhere, you were going to kill her,' His voice was calm, so even...

'No!' Louis pleaded. 'Please, you've got to believe me. All he wanted was to get you to come back, she was a ploy,'

'He will hurt her,'

'I told him not to,'

Erik laughed in his ear.

'I told him not to!!' Louis coughed, felt vomit bubble into his throat. 'Erik, let me stand,'

'I think we both know that that isn't likely to happen,' He whispered. 'Don't we, Louis?'

_'God_...'

'Not here,'

_'Please_...'

Erik laughed again. 'Too late,'

'I'll help you,'

'You're pathetic,'

'I wasn't going to hurt her!'

'Just me then?' Erik asked, his voice light.

'It isn't like that...'

'Then what is it like?' Erik said, as his knee dug into Louis' kidney.

Louis opened his mouth to answer but Erik stopped him.

'On second thoughts,' he said. 'It doesn't really matter,'

'We needed money,' Louis tried to explain through stolen breaths.

'I know that,'

For a moment he was confused. 'How do you know?'

'Gabriele is a lying piece of pond scum,' Erik explained. 'Just because you are a fool, does not mean that I am,'

'Let me go,' Louis tried to twist his body out from underneath Erik but he just dug his knee in harder.

'I can't,'

'I'll go home,'

'No, you won't,'

'I will... I _will_,'

Erik leaned around so that Louis could see his face, there was a strange twinkle in his eye. 'You _won't_, Louis,'

'Erik...'

He smiled. 'Louis?'

Louis gasped for another breath, his chest feeling heavy. 'Why are you doing... this?'

'Because I can,'

There was no response to that. There was nothing he could say. He tried to fight again, turning and swaying but Erik simply pushed him a little harder and Louis became a heap on the floor again.

'Such a big man,' Erik smiled. 'Yet so weak,'

'I am not weak,'

'Of course you are,'

'I'm... I'm not,'

'Then we shall make a deal,' Erik said, making eye contact with Louis. 'I'm going to let you stand and if you can escape then I will let you go and not pursue you further,'

Louis gulped in air. 'You need to let me get my bearings,' He was grasping, he knew it.

'Of course,' Erik smiled. 'It wouldn't be fair otherwise, would it?'

Louis felt the pressure relieve from his back and Erik stepped away, standing in front of him. He pushed himself to his feet, wobbling slightly as he stood. He gathered his bearings and took in his surroundings.

'I'll give you twenty seconds,' Erik said. 'From now,'

Louis knew it was useless to fight him, he was too weak now, so he turned and bolted, letting his legs carry him as fast as they could possibly go. The bile was in his throat, his legs felt heavy, but he ran and ran. He rounded another corner looking for a door but found none. Instead the corridor was straight and he followed it, running hard and fast.

At the end of the corridor was a door he knew led outside.

He ran for it.

He was barely a few feet away when something dropped over his head from above. He stopped running, out of breath and looked down at his neck, there, around it, was a rope.

'Louis,'

He looked up and saw Erik holding the rope over a beam.

'What time are you meeting with Gabriele?'

Louis glanced down at his pocket watch, heart racing. 'In less than five minutes,'

'I'll let him know you're sorry you couldn't make it,'


	51. Time

**Chapter 50- Time**

Gabriele was almost sure that Erik would have worked out what was going on by now. As much as he hated to admit it, Lambourne was frighteningly intelligent, far more so than anyone else Gabriele had ever known. The night had set in fast, as it usually does in the winter months, and he was hiding in a bush across the road from the theatre.

From his vantage point he could see around the back of the theatre and some of the front. If he had chosen to go the other way the stables would, almost certainly, have blocked his view of the rear entrance.

It was ten minutes after he had arranged to meet Louis and there was no sign of him at, or anywhere near, the door. Gabriele was not stupid by any means and he knew that this mean that Louis was likely dead, at best, incapacitated. He signalled to Patrick who was across the other side of the street but a little further away from the theatre.

It was time to switch to their back up plan.

Instead of hanging around any longer they both snuck back from the edges of the street into an alley between two commercial buildings. There were three others waiting for them there.

'Where is Louis?'

Gabriele looked around him, checking there was no one there before he spoke, 'Dead,' he said simply.

'This is useless,'

'Don't be an idiot,' Gabriele snapped. 'You work for me and you will do as _I_ say,'

'And end up like Louis?' Another of his men asked.

'The second plan will work just as well,' Gabriele insisted, leaning against the cold wall. 'I have been following that short man for a couple of days and found the secret entrance to Lambourne's home,'

There were a few grunts and a nod but no one really seemed interested. They did not understand how desperate the situation was getting. Now, it was not just a matter of capturing Erik, they needed to do it before _he_ found _them_. Gabriele was in little doubt that Louis was already killed and that Erik  
would be on the look out for the members of the company.

If they did not deal with him then he would finish them all off once and for all.

First, however, they needed the money.

'We will go in and deal with whatever we find,'

'This is a joke,'

'Shut up,' Gabriele growled. 'This isn't the time for you to be yellow about it. It's too late for that. Don't you know he knows what we had planned, don't you know that he will kill us all if we don't go through with this anyway!'

Patrick sighed. 'He might _kill_ us anyway,'

'We have pistols,'

'And you know that Erik doesn't?'

Gabriele nodded. 'It is one of the things I know for sure,' he said. 'He doesn't like pistols, he keeps swords and traps,'

'And if we get caught in one of these traps?'

'You'll be dead,' Gabriele shrugged. 'But there are no traps at the secret entrance... which is why he has kept it secret,'

'Well, where is the _not_ secret entrance?' The tallest in the group asked.

'You have to get to it from inside the theatre,' He ran his hand through his hair. 'No one has ever made it out, therefore, we are not sure anyone ever made it in,'

'Won't the secret entrance be guarded?' Patrick asked.

'It will,' Gabriele said. 'By his friend, name of Nadir, but we can deal with him,'

'Are you sure?'

'He isn't expecting us,'

'How do you know?'

Gabriele smiled. 'Why would either of them expect us at the entrance nobody knows about?'

'They were expecting Louis to be in the theatre,'

'Well,' he said. 'Erik is clever,'

'Then surely he is clever enough to protect the secret entrance,'

Gabriele rolled his eyes. 'He _is_,'

'Then...'

'He has it protected by Nadir, I've told you we can handle him,' Gabriele rubbed his cold hands together. 'The others are meeting us not far from the theatre, we'll then peddle back and make our way in,'

The other men looked at each other and finally, one by one, nodded their assent.

_It was time._

* * *

Erik looked around him from the top of the ledge. He could not see Gabriele or any of his little goons but he was almost certain that they were there. It was not important at that time, he had Nadir at his home, and he was up in the theatre out of sight.

Well, for a while.

He made his way back into the theatre through a gap in the masonry and followed the slim opening to the corridor. Lowering himself carefully, he looked around him and, sure that the coast was clear, he walked quietly to the back of the stage. He could hear people in the back stage area but most were on stage in this part of the performance, he had planned it that way. He slid past them without anyone noticing and slipped on his own disguise. The last three people bounced on to the stage and Erik was left alone except for the sound of Ubaldo Piangi warming his voice up. Erik followed the voice in silence and found that Piangi was standing just outside the door to the stage.

'Ubaldo,' he almost whispered the other man's name.

'What is it?' The short man asked, turning the look at the hooded figure before him. 'Eh, that is my spare costume!'

'I know,' Erik said, quietly.

'Who are you?' Ubaldo demanded. 'What do you want?'

'You don't know who I am?' Erik kept his head bowed. 'I'm hurt,'

'If you came for my signature then you are wasting your time, Monsieur, I am far too busy, as you will probably know,'

'I can take a weight off for you,' Erik quipped and he realised that part of him was actually enjoying this.

Ubaldo's face creased into disgust. 'You foolish little man,'

'Apologies,'

'This is what I _live_ for!' he exclaimed. 'This is no weight on my shoulders! This is everything, the music, the adoration; this is what I _live_ for!'

'And die for, Monsieur?' Erik asked.

'You are disturbing me now,' Piangi said, backing away with some caution. 'Who did you say you were?'

'I'm here to help you,' He almost meant it. If Ubaldo left now, then Erik would let him live.

'How can you help me?' The older man asked, frowning. 'I need nothing from you,'

'I think you do,'

'What do I need?'

'My help, of course,'

'What help?'

Erik shrugged, head low. 'You cannot sing this part,'

'I can sing any part,'

'You can't hold the notes well enough, your voice is not rich enough,' Erik made his voice soft. 'How can you sing it?'

'I can do anything I like, Monsieur,' Ubaldo stepped further away. 'Leave me,'

'Of course,' Erik smiled to himself. 'The all seeing, all knowing Ubaldo Piangi who is so tone deaf he doesn't even recognise my voice,'

'Should I?'

'Perhaps not,'

'Then leave,'

_So be it_. 'Certainly,'

Erik turned and opened the door, stepping out and the climbing up the rope to his left. It made it so that he was just above the back stage area, standing directly over Ubaldo as he took his place in the wardrobe designed to hide Don Juan. The closet was tall and wide, exaggerated so that it was noticeable. He followed as the cast wheeled it towards the back of the stage; he stepped carefully along a beam so that he was crouched over the top of the wardrobe.

They were behind the second set of curtains, designed to mask the rear of the stage when props were being brought on and off whilst there was a performance happening at the front. To his credit, Ubaldo did not look a bit nervous, even after his encounter with Erik backstage. The man had not even known who Erik was.

He looked out across the stage. He had only minutes.  
_  
It was time._

* * *

Meg twirled and found her way to the side of the stage with the rest of the dancers. They gracefully moved backwards until they were off stage and out of the audience's eye line. She managed to catch Christine's attention as she moved away and she nodded some encouragement at her. Backstage was quiet and the girls carefully went about their business, taking their shoes off and stretching their muscles.

They were done now. Their part was over.

Meg listened to the music now playing on stage and she recognised it immediately, the play was nearly over and this was the part that Christine had been dreading. The part where she had to be up close with Ubaldo, not something she relished in.

Meg glanced out quickly at the audience, frozen to their seats, as if they knew too.

_It was time._

* * *

The dancers had done well and made her proud. Antoinette felt that she was glowing slightly as she stepped into the backstage area; she was so proud of her girls and especially of her Meg. When she arrived they were all busy cooling down, making sure that they didn't strain anything.

'You all did very well,' she said quietly, making sure to look at each of them in turn. 'The audience were pleased, the managers looked pleased and I am _very_ happy,'

They all smiled at her warmly. She had told them all the previous evening that after this run at the theatre she would be gone. Antoinette was now tasked with finding a suitable replacement and Reyner, bless him, had expressed how difficult he thought it would be to replace her. She had felt her cheeks flush at this comment and, for the first time in a while, felt like a youngster.

'Thank you, mama,' Meg kissed her cheek softly.

Antoinette could hear the music starting and much of the cast dispersing from the stage area into the sides. The music, she knew, signalled what Ubaldo Piangi was looking forward to most. Being close to Christine, she just hoped that he could keep himself professional throughout. Poor child, she thought, looking at her Goddaughter.

Christine looked confident but there was something in her eyes, something distant and sad, and Antoinette thought that she understood what it was.

Fear for Erik, fear for Raoul.

The worry placed squarely on such young shoulders was a heavy burden to carry.

As she watched she felt a chill crawl along her spine. She looked around and everyone was still there, many watching the show from the sides, but something was wrong.

Something was very wrong and in that instant she simply knew.  
_  
It was time._


	52. Pursuit

**Chapter 51- Pursuit **

Christine walked slowly back to the centre of the stage from the edge, she heard 'Passirino, go away...' and thought that Piangi's voice had deepened somewhat. It was a strange sensation that coursed through her as she sat on the bench and acted her part, waiting for the figure of Don Juan to cast a  
shadow across her.

She did not wait long.

As the music followed its flow and began to darken into something deeper, more passionate, the voice she heard was not the one she was expecting. She knew in that instant that Raoul's plan had come completely undone.

They would all be lucky to survive.

'You have come here,' Was the first of his lines and his voice sent shivers around her entire body. She would like to say it was only her spine that tingled at his sound but the whole of her shook. She felt the hairs on her arms stand up as he sang to her, she felt his shadow as it moved around her, he was imposing, he was powerful... _he was beautiful_.

In rehearsals when Piangi sang this Christine had chills but they were the cold, hard variety, the kind that makes you want to wrap up warm and shut the cold out. _These were different_. The back of her neck became cool with sensation, every nerve in her body responded to the tone of his singing.

Erik was back.

They had sung together before but never performed and she knew then that was exactly what this was going to be, _a performance_. She felt his hand stroke the line of her shoulders from behind but she dare not look, for if she did she was afraid she might be lost forever. She took a quick glance up and saw that Raoul was watching, his forehead creased with concern, he could see that something was wrong.

The managers seemed to sense it to.

'No second thoughts...' Erik sang, softly, soothingly... 'Past the point of no return...'

Were they really, she thought, as she found the courage to glance over her shoulder. His face was cloaked by the hood of his cape but she caught a flash of blue.

His eyes.

_Those eyes._

He came closer, behind her, hands on both shoulders leaning into her. 'What sweet seduction lies before us..?'

She almost choked, she could hardly breath. She felt her heart wild in her chest as the audience looked on in complete suspense. His voice was seductive and pure, this was the way he intended it to be sung and now she understood. The fingertips of his gloveless hand brushed her shoulder as he let them fall from her body.

She took a breath, tried to compose herself. 'You have brought me to that moment where words run dry...' she could barely hear herself think, let alone sing, the sound of her own pulse in her ears was loud and distracting. Still, she sang on, attempting to remember the words, her moves, her cues... it was difficult because all the time she felt him looking at her.

'In my mind I've already imagined...' her voice caught but she pulled it back...' Our b... bodies entwining, defenceless and silent...'

Somehow the words kept coming out; somehow she was remembering them for her teacher. She could not disappoint him, not even now. As she sang she risked a glance to the side of the stage where Antoinette Giry stood, frozen, watching them.

_She knew._

She stood, felt his arm wrap around her waist as they began to sing together, their voices merging perfectly, beautifully, as if they belonged. Swaying, she continued to sing, moving away from him she glanced teasingly over her shoulder... everything she was supposed to do but now she knew she meant it. When he caught her up his voice filled her with something she had never felt before, she was light, her pulse raced, her chest struggled for breath.

'We've past the point of no return...' she whispered.

Police were scrambling around the theatre, Raoul was shouting something, yet the music still played... the show must go on. The touch of his hand on her was enough to send the chills shooting along her spine again. She wanted to fall into him but knew she could not, knew it was wrong.

He leaned forward, arms around her, lips near her ear. 'Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime, lead me save me from my solitude,' Erik held his hand out and in it was her ring, glittering under the light. She took it from him carefully, looking into his eyes; she placed it on her finger. 'Say you want me with you, here beside you,'

Her heart thumped, she couldn't do this, couldn't let him consume her. _Could she?_

'Anywhere you go, let me go too,'

Her mouth was suddenly dry, her hands clammy.

'Christine, that's all I ask...'

_It was wrong._

She did not allow him to get the last word out; she reached out and grabbed the cool edge of his mask. With a firm tug she pulled it away, revealing his horrific skin to the audience before them. She heard screams and a loud bang before she was falling.

Falling and falling but still wrapped in his arms.

And as they fell she wondered, for the first time ever, if Erik was going to kill her.

* * *

His feet thudding on the stairs Raoul darted through the commotion and into the auditorium.

'Where is she?' He demanded, staring at the managers and the police chief in front of him. They all looked at each other and then, slowly, Gilles Andre shook his head.

'We don't know,' The police officer said.

He must have seen the look in Raoul's eyes because he backed away quickly, carefully, putting some distance between himself and the Vicomte.

'I'm not sure I've ever seen such a display of incompetence before in all my life!' He knew he was shouting but could not stop, could not make himself calm. The Phantom had taken her, taken his fiancée, his love... _his Christine_.

'How were we to know..?'

Raoul held his hand up to stop him. 'You should have had every base covered, every square, every foot of this place!'

Antoinette Giry walked in, head bowed, with Richard Firmin. It was Richard who spoke. 'Ubaldo Piangi is dead,'

Raoul swallowed.

'They have found another body in the corridors,'

'How could this happen?' Raoul was shaking his head, trying to make himself understand.

'We can only apologise,' The office spoke. 'We have our men scouring the premises,'

'Like you did last time?'

'Well..'

He turned to Antoinette Giry, panic settling into his body. 'Where are they?'

'Victome,' she said.

'Where has he taken her!?' he demanded, hands trembling, bile rising into his throat. 'Where are they!?'

'I will show you,' she finally replied, softly, sadly.

'You don't want to give him up,' He was amazed, almost appalled.

She shook her head. 'He won't harm her,'

'She keeps telling me that but how am I to believe it?' Raoul asked. 'The man is a murderer, he has killed people and now he has taken Christine against her will,'

'Are you so sure it is completely against her will?' Madame Giry asked a little too gently.

'What are you suggesting?'

'I'm simply noting that she trusted him, he was her teacher for quite some time,'

'Where are they?'

'Follow me,' she began to walk out of the door and towards the back of the theatre. For once, Raoul did as he was told, following her along the black corridor.

'Now what?'

'She kicked the floor and a door appeared, as if from no where. 'Down there,'

'Down?'

'Yes,'

He reached for the edges and yanked at the sides until it opened, revealing several stone steps leading into complete blackness. 'I'll need a lantern,'

She shook her head. 'He will spot it,'

'No lantern?' he frowned. 'How will I see?'

'I don't know but any light down there is almost certain death,' She shrugged her shoulders. 'I can't help you anymore other than to say that you must keep your hand at the level of your eye?'

'What?'

'He has the Punjab lasso, Vicomte,' she said. 'Trust me,'

Philippe, who had so far been standing in silence, looked horrified. 'You can't go down there!'

'I have to,' Raoul sighed. 'I need to save her, Philippe, I love her, can't you see?'

Philippe did not reply, instead he stared quietly at his younger brother, concern clouding his usually clear eyes.

'I _love_ her,' Raoul repeated. 'She is in danger,'

Philippe nodded his head, defeated. 'Then I come with you,'

'No,'

'Raoul...'

'Is it not enough that on of us will be risking our life?' Raoul asked, placing a hand on his brother's broad shoulder. 'I must go alone,'

'I'll get some people together; we'll follow when there are enough of us to be safe,'

Raoul thought about it for a moment and then nodded his agreement.

'We'll finish this,'

Antoinette Giry's face was almost green as she stepped forward, for the first time timidly, 'Don't hurt him,'

'Hurt him?' Philippe's frowned. 'I'm going to _kill_ him,'

'No,' she said, and Raoul heard the catch in her voice. 'He doesn't mean this...'

'Ha...'

'He won't hurt her,'

Philippe shook his head. 'He has killed many,' he said, as he turned and walked away.

Raoul watched her for a moment and realised that he was the only one to see the single tear roll down her cheek.

'I won't hurt him,' Raoul said softly.

She looked at him as if she had forgotten he was there, her eyes dark, face pale and drawn.

'You may have no choice,'

* * *

Scott had leapt up in the commotion and run for the back stage area where he hoped he would fine his wife and daughter, safe and sound. Meg was sitting on a stool, her head in her hands, staring at the floor. He had placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and she had released a loud sigh.

'Papa,'

'It will be alright, Meg,' he had reassured. 'Everything will be alright,'

'I hope so,'

'Where is your mother?' he asked.

Meg turned and looked around her. 'She was here a moment ago,'

He frowned. 'Has anyone seen Antoinette Giry?'

A girl nodded, tears streaking her soft cheeks, and she pointed to the open door behind the stage. Scott grabbed Meg's hand and pulled her towards the door, squeezing gently as they moved. There was no way he was letting his daughter out of his sight in this place. They followed the voices they heard until he could vaguely make out his wife's shadow in the distance. She was standing with Raoul and Philippe De Chagny.

Scott decided to wait for her to be done and a few seconds later Philippe barged past them, frowning, his temper obviously frayed. They walked towards Antoinette just in time to hear Raoul tell his wife that he would not _'hurt him'_ and for her to say that he _'might have no ch_oice'.

Years or even months ago, Scott would have been confused by this but now he understood. His wife, his beautiful, elegant Antoinette, had said another man's name in her sleep. He knew that she was not being unfaithful but the cries of his name were so pained it had not been difficult to work out who he was. She said his name not in ecstasy but in fear, in hurt, in worry and now he understood that the man she called in her sleep, this Erik, was none other than this Phantom.

A man she loved, at least once in her life, and now worried for. It had been since the night of the ball, the night he returned; her face when she saw him descending the staircase was an odd mixture of worry and relief. He should have known then but it had been the dreams that confirmed it.

'Antoinette,' he said softly, as Raoul plunged into blackness beneath their feet.

She looked at him, her eyes were red. 'Scott,'

'It will be alright,'

'Where is Laurent?' she asked.

'He vanished just after the commotion,' he answered. 'He's probably looking for us,'

Antoinette nodded. 'Meg,'

'I'm fine, Mama,'

Another nod as Scott loosed Meg's hand and wrapped his arms around his wife, whispering softly in her ear. 'He'll be alright,'

'Raoul is strong but...'

'I didn't mean him,'

Antoinette tried to pull away but he held her tight, squeezed her to his body. 'What can I say?'

'Just tell me you're not in love with him,' Scott whispered, her body pressed against him.

'I was,' He felt her swallow as she spoke. 'A long time ago,'

He nodded, rubbing her back, holding her close.

'I love you,' She murmured. _'Only_ you,'

'Good to know,' He moved away slightly, keeping her in his arms but looking into her eyes. 'What can I do to help?'

It was at that moment that Philippe De Changy returned, a crowd of people carrying torches behind him, his face pure fury. The people following him approached quickly and surrounded the hole in the floor, staring into it. 'This is where the monster hides,' Philippe said, turning to look at the crowd around him. 'This is where we will find him,'

Someone from the back of the group called out, 'Track down this murderer,' someone else anchored 'He must be found' onto the statement and suddenly, this became their chant. One by one, following Philippe, they all plunged into the blackness beneath.

Scott looked at his wife. 'I'll go with them,'

She touched his arm. 'Be careful,'

They both fell quiet and it was a familiar voice behind them that broke the silence. 'Don't worry,' Laurent said, as he stepped from the shadows. 'I'll be with him,'

Scott nodded his head and kissed Antoinette's cheek as softly as he could. 'I love you too,'

And then they were on their way.


	53. Epiphany

**A/N: It's been quite a strange few months for me. The details of which I will not bore you with but in addition to my writers block there were a few other issues that took precedence over this fic. Now, I'm back to writing. I think I have this basically finished though I'm not sure it's to the standard I would like.**

**I can only**** apologise**** for long wait and thank you for your patience and kind reviews.**

**Chapter 52- Epiphany**

The cold was suddenly the most welcoming thing he had ever felt.

Mist had surrounded them quickly as Erik pushed the boat along the narrow passageways beneath the Opera Populaire and the chilled air became moist. He wanted to turn around to face Christine but he could hardly bear to look at her.

Erik's hands gripped the oar so hard that the knuckles on both hands had turned a cool white edged with hot red.

His mask lay at his feet.

Christine sat behind him in silence.

They had traveled someway into the cellars before she finally spoke. 'Why are you doing this?'

'You could have asked me that before trying to humiliate me,' he replied quietly, still not turning to face her.

'Let me go back,'

'No,'

'You can't just kidnap people,'

Erik shook his head, almost feeling a laugh creep into his throat. He was sure they had had this conversation before. He was sure his answer had been exactly the same. 'I can do whatever I choose to,'

'They will come for you!' She shouted, unnecessarily. 'They will rescue me and they will kill you,' despite the meaning of the words there was a distinct lack of venom to them as they escaped her lips.

'I'm sure they _will_ come,' Erik responded. 'But they won't kill me and they won't find you,'

Suddenly, silence fell around them. He was surprised that he was managing to maintain his calm despite the rage building inside him.

'What will you do to me?' Her voice was soft, almost cracking, as if she was forcing the words out.

It was at this point Erik anger reached almost a pinnacle. He managed to look over his shoulder, see her tear stained cheeks, and not lose his sense of fury.

'What will I do to _you_?' He stared at her, her face no longer hurting him. 'Look what you have done to _me_!'

'Erik...'

'Shut up!' He yelled, the sound of his voice bouncing around the cavernous underground. 'You have no idea what you just did, you don't understand...'

'How dare you...'

'Me?' He spat. 'How dare _you_?! You have stripped me bare, shown my face to a world where people never understood. I am nothing but a freak to those people and yet you, who said she cared, would unmask me before them!'

Her eyes closed but she did not respond.

'I have spent my entire life hiding from people, hiding my face,' His heart felt wild in his chest but he could not stop. 'And the woman I have opened up to most, the one who begged me for my trust, is the one that has exposed me to them all. Exposed me to their ridiculous prejudice and hate...'

Christine took a breath. 'They hate you because you have murdered,'

'You use the wrong word, Christine,' He pushed the boat through a small space, ducking his head down, before turning back to her. 'I have _killed_. You are so naive,'

'I ask you again, Erik...'

'You use my name as if you have the right to,'

'You were my friend,'

'And yet we both know how very little that means to you,'

'You were...' She paused, as if stuck. He looked away. 'I ask you again... what will you do with me?'

'If only that boy did not possess you so I could have explained everything,' Erik said quietly, over the swish of the oar gliding through the water. 'As it happens, now there is no time and no reason for an explanation,'

'You must...'

'I must what?' He snapped. 'Tell you? I must tell you nothing! You don't deserve to hear my words, Christine, because you would not believe me anyway. All the trust that we had for each other is now gone. You have destroyed it.'

'My father...'

'Is inconsequential,' He interrupted. 'There is no point in us rehashing what is gone,'

'You took his money,'

'He took mine first, remember that,'

'He had no other option,'

Erik rolled his eyes. 'I did not know your father, Christine, that is the truth, but I am sure he is like all of the others who borrow money from Gabriele's little enterprise,'

'And what is that like then?'

For a moment he was awash with a strange feeling, a tingling in his chest, so strong he almost stopped talking. _Almost_. 'Many men take drugs or gamble, they squander their wealth in someway,'

'He had no wealth,'

Erik sighed. 'He had his home, he could have sold and moved somewhere smaller perhaps,'

'The home we lived in was not big,'

'I do not need to justify my business to you,' He growled. 'And if we are to keep going over the past what about your many betrayals of me?'

Christine shook her head. 'When did I betray you?'

'Spending your evenings with De Chagny is not betraying me?'

'No!' She raised her voice. 'He was my friend,'

'Yet somehow he is now your fiancé,' Erik said. 'Interesting development, completely unexpected, I might add,'

'Your sarcasm doesn't hurt me, Erik,'

'I'm not trying to hurt you,'

'Then what are you doing?'

'Taking you away,'

'You can't just do that,'

He smiled. 'I can,' he said. 'And I am,'

Christine opened her mouth as if to say something and then closed it again quickly. She was looking back at him as he pushed forward through the underground corridors finally finding the opening to his lake and his home.

'You're really not going to tell me what's going on here are you?' She asked after the long period of silence.

He decided not to reply, instead he concentrated on pulling the boat up to his makeshift shore line and hooking the rope onto its anchor. When he reached out to help Christine from the boat she refused his aid, choosing to struggle out onto the dusty ground at the waters edge. He shrugged his shoulders at her and made his way into his home, picking things up as he moved along.

'Take me back, Erik,' she said, and although it was a demand it sounded almost sorrowful.

It was then that he spotted the body in the corner of the room. Nadir lay, utterly lifeless, in the doorway at the back of his home. His eyes fixed on his friend, he said, 'I can't,'

'You can,' she said. 'You can do anything you choose, remember?'

'Then I choose not to,' He responded, turning to face her, trying to get his head around what was happening. 'We really are past the point of no return here, Christine, there is no going back now. There is danger all around and you are safer with me,'

'You said we lost our trust,'

'I did,' he nodded in agreement. 'But I'm not sure you've lost your trust in me,'

'You've killed...' she paused. 'Ubaldo?'

He nodded.

'Oh, Erik!'

'If he had left when I suggested it he would still be alive now,' Erik shrugged. 'You need to listen to me, we need to go...'

'You don't even care,'

'You should not comment on things you do not understand,'

'Have you gorged yourself at last in your lust for blood?'

He shook his head, sighed.

'Am I now to be prey to your lust for flesh?'

He shuddered at her words, taking his eyes away from her, her face unbearable. 'You're a fool,' he said, the anger bubbling in him once again. He reached up to his face, closed his eyes, and touched the dented and deformed flesh that only barely covered his skull.

'I have been denied much by my face,' he opened his eyes. 'This face earned a mother's fear and loathing, she could not look at me, could not stand to be near me,'

Christine said nothing.

'Can you imagine, a mother giving her own son for a few coins, to a carnival?' he asked. 'That is what she did, Christine, my own mother could not love this face... the reason you can't love me either,'

The water swished and the sound of shouting above them began to descend into the room.

'My very first item of clothing was a mask, made of wood,' His eyes fixed onto her once again, but this time it was she who looked away. 'It would splinter my skin, causing more damage... when I grew I made my own out of stone and then ceramic,'

Christine was shaking.

'You're afraid of me,' he said, noting the gentle movement of her shoulders. 'But you're now stuck with me,'

He walked towards her, taking those delicate shoulders in his hands and spinning her around so that she was looking right at him. 'Look at this face! An eternity of this for you...'

Her eyes turned cold as she stared at him, she did not blink or pull away, her eyes fixed upon him and she stared hard.

'This haunted face holds no horror for me now,' she was shaking her head. 'Its in your soul that the true distortion lies,'

The words punched him in the chest, made him reel, but he held it together. He was about to respond with rage when he heard a clanking at the bars to his home. He turned his head to face the noise and began to laugh.

'It would appear,' he said. 'That we have a guest,'

Christine spun around, seeing her fiancé waist deep in the water and with pearls of it dripping from his face. 'Raoul!'

'This is indeed an unparalleled delight,' Erik continued. He turned his eyes on Christine and told her, 'It would seem that you're not that only woman to betray me tonight,'

'Let her go,' Raoul demanded.

Erik shook his head.

'Free her!' Raoul shouted. 'Do what you like but you _must_ free her!'

'There are a lot of people telling me what I must do tonight,'

''Have you no pity?'

Though he knew there were more pressing matters at hand, Erik was finding some amusement in this. He turned to Christine, 'Your lover makes a passionate plea,'

She was shaking her head. 'Please, Raoul, it's useless,'

'I love her!' He called out. 'Does that mean nothing to you? I love her! Show some compassion,'

'The world showed no compassion to me!' Erik snarled, walking towards the edge of the lake.

'Let me in!' Raoul shouted. 'Let me see her,'

'Be my guest,' Erik replied, lifting the lever causing the pulley to move the bars up from the ground. The boy ran in, delirious that he could see Christine yet not concentrating on Erik.

He casually walked around behind him and slipped the rope over his neck, pulling it tight so that Raoul needed to be on his toes to survive. He kicked his feet and Christine screamed but Erik felt no pity and no mercy for the man who had been a party to breaking his heart.

'Erik!'

'Shut up, Christine,' he barked, turning his attention back to Raoul, circling him. 'Welcome, Monsieur, to my humble abode, you have done well to make it this far,'

'Let me go,' Raoul gasped.

'No,'

'Fine!' Raoul held a hand up. 'Fine but... I'll do anything... just let Christine leave... let her go unharmed,'

Erik began to laugh. 'You actually thought that I would harm her?'

Raoul did not reply.

'Never,' Erik said and then he smiled. 'But she told you that, didn't she?'

Christine was looking at her hands.

'You told him that?' Erik asked her.

Finally, she nodded.

'You should trust her,' Erik smiled. 'I would never hurt her, would never let anyone else harm her either,'

Raoul kicked his feet but began to choke.

'I wouldn't do that if I were you,' Erik said. 'The lasso is designed to tighten as you struggle, the more you struggle the more likely you are to suffocate... rather an ingenious design, wouldn't you say?'

'You're a monster,'

'Not in the least,' Erik made his voice light as he spoke. 'I'm going to offer you a deal,'

'Anything,' Raoul said.

'Not you,' Erik turned around. 'Christine,'

She looked at him and frowned.

'Say you'll come with me and he lives, I will let him go,' He shrugged. 'Or you can leave and I kill him, that is your choice,'

Christine's frown creased into anguish as she looked from Raoul to Erik. She began to shake her head quickly from side to side. 'The tears I might have shed for your dark fate, grow cold and turn to tears of hate,'

Raoul clung to the rope, 'Christine forgive me!'

The boy actually thought she might be talking to him. Erik watched and then realised that maybe the direction of the statement _had_ been a little ambiguous.

Raoul was still pleading like a child. 'I did it all for you, Christine!'

'Farewell my fallen idol and false friend,' she said quietly.

''Christine,' Raoul called.

'We had such hopes and now they are shattered,'

Raoul struggled. 'Christine!'

'Christine,' Erik said softly.

She looked at both men.

'Too late for prayers and useless pity,' Erik moved away slightly, letting Raoul choke.

'No,' Raoul's breathing was becoming very laboured. 'If you say you love him my life is over anyway!'

'Such sentiment,' Erik placed his hand over his heart. 'It touches me,'

'You're evil,' Raoul glared at him.

He smiled back. 'No point in fighting, Christine,' he said. 'Either way you choose you cannot win,'

'He wins no matter what,' Raoul coughed.

'So,' Erik tilted his head to the side, looking at Christine. 'Do you end your days with me or do you send him to his grave?'

'I...' She choked.

'That is your choice, Christine,'

'Say no!' Raoul demanded. 'Don't do this!'

'His life is now the prize which you must earn,' Erik said.

'Angel of Music,' Christine's voice was so gentle it barely broke the air before her. 'You deceived me, I gave my mind blindly,'

Erik felt the burning in his chest, anger, thinking of Nadir, as he spun around. 'You try my patience! Make your _choice_!'

It wasn't until then, until Christine looked at him, that her eyes finally softened. 'Pitiful creature of darkness what kind of life have you known?'

He swallowed, surprised by the gentle tone of her voice as she walked towards him. Only inches away, she said, 'God give me courage to show you that you are not alone,'

Then she reached out, holding his face in her hands, unconcerned about the feeling of his ragged flesh. She gently pulled him towards her until her lips touched his, then with a softness he had always thought impossible yet had _always_ dreamed of, she kissed him. The anger burning within him was washed away by the smoothness of her warm lips.

When she pulled back she was frowning, there was something in her eyes, something he had never seen before. And then she did it again, this time her kiss was harder and, if Erik did not know better, more passionate. He could feel her warmth radiate through him, felt he should do something with his hands but was completely frozen. He kissed her back, feeling her lips move gently with his until the sound of the mob began to get louder, and broke him from his bliss.

He shoved her away, blinking. He could barely remember where he was - _who_ he was.

Then, a glance over his shoulder at Nadir, reminded him. 'Go,' he said.

She was staring at him, eyes wide, lips slightly swollen. He heard _'Track down this murderer' _but it was not that that bothered him. _Where was Gabriele_?

Somehow he dragged his eyes away from Christine and ran to Raoul, pulling the rope from around his neck. Raoul was frowning.

'Take her,' Erik said. 'Go and forget all of this but take her far away,'

'What?'

'You need to get away from here,' Erik continued, urgency pulling the words from his mouth. 'She is in trouble, in danger and as long as you are here so are you,'

'Erik...' Christine's voice hit him like a hammer, his name on her lips now heaven _and_ hell rolled into one beautiful sound.

'Get out of here,' Erik ignored her though his heart screamed at him. 'Forget me, forget all you have seen... go now, don't let them find you...'

'Who?' Raoul asked.

'It doesn't matter,' Erik snapped. 'Just go!'

He turned and moved away. Christine reached for him as he walked past but he avoided her touch, the memory of her softness too painful to bear as he let her go.

'I ca...'

'Go!'

'Erik...'

'Christine, please...' He pleaded. _'Please_...'

She looked from him to Raoul. It was Raoul who spoke. 'Come Christine, I believe him, if he says you are in danger here then you are in danger,'

'Erik...'

'Stop it!' Erik screamed, covering his ears. _Just go_... 'Take the boat, leave me here,'

Raoul grabbed her hand and pulled her into the boat, unhooked it as he pushed the oar into the water. Christine was staring at Erik as they moved away but he averted his eyes, falling to the floor, too weak to move anymore.

'Stop!' It was Christine's voice that filled the cave. 'Raoul wait here,'

The sound of the water splashing made him open his eyes. She ran to him, throwing her arms around him and squeezing him tight.

'I'm sorry,' She whispered as she let him go, pressing her ring into his hand.

So am I, he thought, _so am I._


	54. Colour Blind

**Chapter 53- Colour blind**

Erik stared down at his hand with the ring nestled into its fleshy cushions. He sat there, wondering how it had all come to this, wondering how he had managed to let it all go so horribly wrong. Slowly, he managed to push himself to his feet. It was oddly quiet in his home, the echoes of the mob were blurred out by the sound of his own pulse rushing in his ears. Glancing across at the table he spotted one of his masks, exactly where he had asked Nadir to leave it.

He sighed and moved towards it, lifting it from the table and then walking back to his seat. He placed it on the seat, facing up and then wandered into his bedroom to find another mask, one he did not wear often. The room was dusty and cold, he reached down under his cot and pulled a chest out. Inside the chest lay three masks and he picked up the black one and placed it against his cheek.

There was only one mirror in his entire home and it was right there in his room, next to the bed. Usually, he covered it with a grey sheet but tonight it stood uncovered and he checked that the mask was gummed into the right place across his face.

He didn't wear this mask often.

When he was done in his room he walked out of the kitchen and sat in his seat, staring down at the body of his friend. Erik wanted to walk to him, to lift him up, to cover him... to do anything but sit there and look at his lifeless body.

_The lifeless body that was there as a result of Erik's stupid crusade._

He slammed his fists down hard onto the table and sent echoes around his cavernous home.

'Gabriele,' he said, quietly.

There was no response.

He heard a gentle ripple in the water but knew that it was not Aiton. He waited a little longer, what felt like hours but was more like a few seconds. Digging his fingernails into the wooden table he shouted. 'Gabriele, you coward!'

It was then that he heard the rustle just to his right, behind the organ, a hiding place he was surprised that the younger man had found.

'Erik,'

He turned and stared at Gabriele, whose hair was damped down, whose eyes were cold and merciless.

Much like his own, he thought.

Erik looked up at him. 'You killed my friend,'

'You killed mine,' Gabriele retorted.

Erik smiled. 'Louis was not your friend,'

'Then why kill him?'

Erik shrugged one shoulder and tapped a finger against the table. 'Why not?'

Gabriele threw his head back and let out a laugh, false and real at the same time. 'You are a cold bastard, Erik,'

Erik said nothing. Instead he listened carefully and kept his eyes firmly on Gabriele, not allowing him out of his sight. He was not a fool.

There was something quite wrong here.

'You're not frightened,' Erik noted.

'Why should I be?' Gabriele asked.

'Because I could kill you,'

'You could,' He said, tilting his head to the side. 'But you won't,'

'I won't?'

Gabriele shook his head. 'No, you won't, and I think we both know why you won't,'

Erik casually leaned back into his chair, looking up at Gabriele as the younger man moved closer to him. When he took his second step toward him, Erik leapt forward and grabbed Gabriele by the throat, lifting his knee to kick him in his stomach. Gabriele quickly doubled forward and tried to claw Erik's fingers away from his neck.

Although it was hurting the backs of his hands, Erik knew that Gabriele was running low on air and besides, Erik was much, _much_ stronger. He pressed harder and harder and felt Gabriele's valiant struggle become less and less convincing. The young man's blue eyes were staring out, beginning to get blood shot, and Erik simply smiled at him.

Gabriele kicked out but the kick made Erik squeeze a little harder, add a little more pressure. Either Gabriele would run out of air or his neck would break, either way, Erik did not care.

Or at least, he didn't care until he heard the scream.

Over the quiet of the room Christine's scream shattered the air around him, bursting through the silence like an explosion. Like a fool Erik dropped Gabriele to the floor and ran towards the edge of the lake. When he got there he felt a pair oh hands push him down, sending him tumbling into the cold water.

He caught his breath and looked up. Patrik had been the one to push him, he was standing at the waters edge looking down at him. Gabriele was just catching his breath as he made his way over.

'Grab him,' he said and Patrik jumped into the water, grabbing Erik by the arm. Erik elbowed him hard in the nose and he heard the familiar sound of bone breaking. Blood poured out as Patrik lowered his head down to his hands. When he did this Erik placed his hand on the back of Patrik's head and pushed it down, bringing his knee up at the same time, sending Patrik, unconscious, into the water.

When he looked back up Gabriele was shaking his head. 'Enough,'

Erik said nothing, just stood in the freezing water, letting it drip from his face and hair. Gabriele reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pistol, then pointed it right at Erik's chest.

'You won't shoot me,' Erik said, feeling panic rush through his veins. He wished the panic was about the gun but it was not. His panic was about Christine. 'You need something from me,'

Gabriele flashed him a cold smile. 'True,' Then he shrugged. 'But I can wait for that, you'll still come with me otherwise you'll never see her again...'

Erik stood completely still, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

'Come on,' Gabriele waved the gun to the side, as if giving Erik direction. 'Let's go,'

Erik looked down at himself, waist deep in water, soaked from head to toe. Slowly, he waded out, stepped onto the bank and followed Gabriele to the door. To get there he had to step over Nadir's body and he felt the rage bubble back up inside him. When they were outside the cold on his wet clothes cut into him like a sharp knife.

Outside were two others, he wondered if Gabriele would simply leave Patrik to drown. He assumed so. Just another body to add to Erik's count.

'Tie him up,' Gabriele instructed the other men, Erik recognised them both and the first one looked at him almost apologetically as he pulled the rope around his wrists. Erik made a note to kill both men _after_ breaking Gabriele's scrawny neck.

'Good,' Gabriele was looking around him. 'Take him to the cell to see her, so he knows she's fine. The others won't be back yet but they won't be far behind you. Then we'll deal with them whichever way we have to,'

Silence dropped around them.

'Oh,' Gabriele smiled. 'Killing Louis was a mistake, Erik, he was the only thing stopping me from doing what I like with your lady friend... shame about Louis though, _truly_,'

Erik felt no remorse and no regret for doing anything to Louis at all. Louis, as far as he was concerned, was as bad as they rest of them. _If not worse_. He had been the one that Erik had trusted most, the one he had trusted with Christine, and now look what was happening.

No, Louis had needed to go. So, too, did Gabriele.

Eventually, they would _all_ die.

* * *

Christine screamed as loudly and as hard as she could. Her voice strained and her head pounded but she screamed at the top of her lungs. Raoul was down, bleeding but alive, with a gun pointed at his head and she herself, was staring down the long barrel of another weapon.

'We don't have to have another problem here,' The older of the two said. 'Just come along quietly, we'll be fine,'

Christine opened her mouth to speak but she simply could not force the words out. All she could think about, was Raoul lying by her feet, lip spilt, ear bleeding.

'Come on, step out of the boat,' She stared at the man, his teeth were all crooked and his hair was a dirty brown. How could she trust him? How could she know that he wasn't going to hurt her too?

Raoul stirred and she dropped to her knees by his side, cradling his injured head. 'Christine,' he whispered. 'I'm fine, do as they say... I'll protect you, just do as they say,'

She glanced up at the two men and then back down at her fiancé.

She wondered if Erik had heard her scream.

'Come on, lady,' The younger of the two kidnappers nodded. 'Time to go.'

With one last look at Raoul she stepped out of the boat and in between the two men. The younger man grabbed her roughly and bound her hands with a thin length of rope. When they were certain that she would not be getting away they tied Raoul's hands and feet and began to drag the boat back towards Erik's home.

Fear was swirling around inside her but mostly she felt angry... _furious_, even, that someone could even consider hurting a man as gentle as Raoul. It had been unprovoked and unexpected, they had just ambushed them and hit Raoul across the head and face with the handle on the pistol.

The older man started to whistle, as if this was normal which then prompted the young man to start laughing. Soon they were wading back into the entrance of Erik's home and, to her horror, he was nowhere to be seen. In the pool in front of her was a body, bloody and battered and almost certainly dead.

The older man shook his head, looking at the younger man. 'He's good, Gerry,'

The young man, Gerry, smiled a little. 'He's something,'

'You think Gabriele got him or do you think we're all in trouble here?'

Gerry looked around and then back at the man's body in the lake. 'No, Gabriele got him,'

Christine felt a hot sensation in her chest. 'Got ... who?' She asked, sure that she should not talk but positive that she needed to know.

'Your friend,' Gerry grinned. 'Erik Lambourne,'

A chill crept along her spine and she glanced back at Raoul, who was dropping in and out of consciousness.

'Lambourne killed Patrik first, though' The older man said. 'He didn't go down without a fight.'

No, he wouldn't, she thought, staring all around her at the place she had felt so cold yet so comfortable in. The one place where Erik himself was at home, somewhere he feared no one. She swallowed hard, felt her heart thud.

They dragged the boat up onto the bank and then pulled Christine out of the water by her arms. It hurt but she did not yell out, she did not cry. She refused to let them see that she was hurting.

There was a good chance that Erik was dead and now she was beginning to realise that it was all her fault.

'Where are you taking us?' Christine asked, as they pulled Raoul from the boat and dumped him hard onto the floor. He let out a sound, stirred a little, and closed his eyes again. Christine was completely alone.

'To the meeting place and then... well, I don't know,' Gerry replied, his voice was low and gruff.

'Let me go,' she said softly.

Gerry shook his head.

'Why are you doing this?'

'Because we were told to, it's what we get paid for, now follow us,' he grabbed Raoul by the wrists and pulled him along the floor. He was strong and barely seemed to notice the extra weight. There was no way she could fight one of them off, let alone two, and so for now she simply followed them to the table in the room, taking an occasional glance at Raoul to reassure herself.

'Stop!'

Christine spun around to find the origin of the man's voice. She recognised it, vaguely. Finally, she spotted Laurent by the entrance of the lair, in the water and wading towards them. The two kidnappers looked at each other and frowned, they had not planned for this.

'What are you doing?' Laurent asked, his voice firm but not aggressive.

'Nothing,' The older man shrugged casually.

Gerry smiled.

'Why are they tied up?'

Gerry looked from Raoul to Christine and then back to Laurent but he said nothing, chose not to answer the question. Laurent moved closer and closer, making quick progress.

'You, stop there,' Gerry finally said, worried that the young Giry was getting too close.

Laurent looked around him as if he didn't know who he was talking to. 'Me?'

'I know you,' Gerry frowned, staring at Laurent for what seemed an awfully long time.

'You do?' Laurent asked but Christine saw recognition in Laurent's face too. The older man looked confused.

'Laurent?'

After a brief pause Laurent nodded his head. 'Hello, Gerry, how are you?'

'Better if you weren't here,'

At this stage Laurent stepped out of the water and onto dry land, eyes still firmly fixed onto Gerry. The older man stood still, pistol hanging down by his side.

'What's happening here, Gerry?'

'None of your business,' Gerry snapped. 'What are you doing down here? How did you get down here?'

'None of _your_ business,' Laurent shrugged. 'What do you want with these two?' He pointed from Christine to Raoul but did not look at them.

'Gabriele needs to talk to them,'

Laurent frowned. 'What for? And why can't you just ask them to go with you? Why tie them up?' He glanced at Raoul and raised his eyebrows. 'Or bash them about the head?'

'Who is this?' The older man asked.

Gerry glanced sideways at his partner. 'His names Laurent, you took his place,'

He simply nodded.

Laurent smiled at him. 'So, as we're being so civil, who are _you_?'

'Benjamin,'

Christine watched quietly, wondering what would happen now. Laurent, apparently, had once been part of this crowd working for Gabriele but now it would appear that he had turned against them. She wondered what he was doing down in the Opera cellars, she wondered if he knew Erik.

'Good to meet you, Benjamin,' Laurent said jovially, there was no strain in his voice, he made it seem almost genuine.

Benjamin grunted.

'Get out of here, Laurent,' Gerry growled.

'I can't do that,'

'Just go or I'll kill you,'

Laurent nodded. 'At least you're giving me the option this time,'

'Listen to me,' Gerry snarled. 'I was following orders, I barely knew you...'

'Well, then, it's fine to murder people you barely know but not alright to kill people you do know? Is that what you're saying?'

Gerry did not reply.

'But we're old friends now, Gerry,' Laurent continued, taking a small step closer. 'We're talking and everything,'

'Stay there, stay where you are!' Benjamin yelled, making his voice echo around the room. Christine could see that his nerves were getting frayed, he just wanted to get out of there. She noticed that the hand holding the pistol was shaking violently and that worried her.

'Let them go,'

'We can't do that,' Gerry shrugged. 'We need them,'

In what seemed like a blur, Gerry lurched forward, not in an attempt to get to Laurent but because Scott Giry had leapt on his back, knocking him to the floor and the gun out of his hand. Christine stood, helpless, hands tied up, as the pistol skidded past her feet and out of harms way. Scott raised his fist and punched Gerry square in the mouth, sending spit and blood flying out.

Laurent jumped forward and tackled Benjamin.

In the commotion, Raoul remained almost completely still and Christine tried to back her way towards the pistol but it had traveled a long way. Laurent was strong but the pistol in Benjamin's hand was flying around dangerously. It was a moment before Christine realised that she was holding her breath as she watched. She knew now that no amount of screaming would bring Erik to their aid and so she remained pathetically silent, heart thudding but unable to do a single thing about it.

Laurent pushed Benjamin back and Scott was dragging Gerry to his feet to hit him again.

It was then that the inevitable happened. The pistol that Benjamin had been clinging to so nervously earlier was now being fired in accident. The bullet hit Scott in the back sending him sprawling, face down, to the floor. Laurent looked but, to his credit, did not let go of Benjamin. Gerry, however, composed himself and ran towards Christine, knocking her to the floor as he grabbed his own pistol.

Laurent tried to pull the older man around as a shield but he was too late. Gerry had already taken aim and pulled the trigger. Laurent gasped as he was hit, high on his body and to the left, and then he fell to the floor and closed his eyes. Christine realised that she had jumped at Gerry's feet in an attempt to stop him, but tied up and already on the floor, she had missed by a matter of feet.

She surveyed the carnage around her, Scott had not moved, Laurent was groaning. Gerry was reloading his pistol and Benjamin was shaking like a leaf. Tears began to build in her eyes as she looked at Scott Giry, blood pooling around him, lifeless. Her heart began to ache for so many reasons, not least of all that her friend was now without her father and all because of Christine's mess.

'Get up!' Gerry snarled as he finished loading his weapon. Christine simply struggled to her feet, unable to get any words out, unable to fight anymore. 'Pull yourself together, Ben,'

Benjamin looked over towards the two of them and blinked. Then with a nod of his head, he grabbed Raoul and began to pull him towards the door.

'Are you ready?' Gerry looked at her, a smirk developing on his face.

She said nothing and simply followed.


	55. From the Heart

**Chapter 54- From the Heart**

They had blindfolded her as soon as they had left Erik's home, through a back entrance that she had not even known existed. Gerry had spoken in hushed tones to Benjamin and they had all walked quite a distance before she was bustled into a cart of some description. The ride had been fairly bumpy all of the way to their destination but she could tell when they had left the cobbles of the Paris streets and entered the rough terrain of it's outskirts.

At one stage they went over a hill so hard and fast that she fell onto her side, banging her head on the wall of the carriage. It had taken her a while to get herself back so that she was seated upright, it was very difficult to push up when both hands were tied together. She wished that she could see Raoul, to know that he was alright. Every once in a while the road would smooth over a little and everything would be quiet and she would listen, in silence, for his breathing careful that she did not mask it with her own.

He was still there, his breathing told her that he was alive and if she was honest, at that moment, that was all that seemed to matter to her. From the way she was sitting, her legs were starting to ache, tingle slightly with a sensation of numbness, but she found it very difficult to shift position and so she suffered, as she thought she probably deserved.

What worried her most was that she was also very cold, the water that had soaked her dress was starting to freeze; she could feel it on her skin, starting to stick.

She wasn't sure just how long they had been travelling but she knew it had been longer than fifteen minutes. Without a clock or watch of some type she found it very difficult to keep track of the time in the best situations. Now, blindfolded and travelling to an unknown place, it was impossible.

Finally, the cart came to a halt and she heard Gerry tell Benjamin to go inside and tell Gabriele that they had arrived. No more than a few minutes later she felt a chill crawl along her spine at the sound of Gabriele Aiton's voice outside the cart.

Seconds later the door opened and someone grabbed her hands and dragged her out of the back, throwing her to the ground. Then she heard them pull Raoul out in roughly the same manner.

'Take her to the cell,' Gabriele instructed.

'Are you sure?' Gerry asked him, Christine could hear confusion in his voice.

'Of course I'm bloody sure,' Gabriele snapped back. 'Leave De Chagny with me,'

'No!' Christine heard herself yell. It was a strange feeling, not knowing that you were speaking and hearing yourself before you're aware of it.

'What?' Gabriele asked.

'Please, no, don't hurt him,'

He laughed. 'Taker her,'

'No,' She kicked her legs violently as she felt Benjamin's rough hands on the tops of her arms. She was cold and the movement warmed her slightly. 'No, I won't leave him!'

'Just take her,' Gabriele said, sounding bored with the whole thing. She wondered what time it was. Would anyone have realised that they were _both_ missing now. 'Don't take the blindfold off until just before you throw her in and make sure you take the lantern out with you,'

There was no more said between the three men after that and Benjamin dragged her along, as she kicked her feet, as she fought hard, but he barely seemed to notice.

'Got to put her in the cell,' Benjamin told someone.

The other man's reply was a low grunt as she heard a door swing open with a high pitched squeak. She knew they were inside now, it was not much warmer but it was a change. Also, Benjamin's footsteps had begun to echo slightly.

'You've got to go in here now,' Benjamin said to her as they stopped. She heard keys in a door, she heard it open, she felt his hands on her back as he pushed her in and then she felt him lift the blindfold before he disappeared quickly, closing the door behind him.

Although her eyes were no longer covered she could barely see a thing. The room was quiet and she managed to find the wall and feel her way around it until she came to what felt like a bale of hay. She sat in it and, after a few minutes, it began to warm her a little.

In spite of herself, she felt the tears brim in her eyes again but this time she let them flow, a gentle sob escaped her and she wondered how long it would be before they killed her.

_Or worse._

Her hands were still tied but the rope had loosened a little and she hooked them around herself, pulling her knees to her chest. It was a few seconds before she realised that she was rocking back and forth as she used to when she was in trouble as a child. Although she knew that she had done plenty wrong in her years she had to wonder what she had done that was so bad that she deserved this punishment.

Then her mind drifted back to Raoul, all alone with those monsters. She felt herself ask for God for the first time since her father had passed away. She begged, quietly, that He let Raoul be well, that He protected him and that He fought for the righteous.

Raoul was good and strong and sweet. He had done nothing to deserve this, nothing at all, and now there was nothing she could do to help him. _Nothing at all. _

She sobbed again.

'Christine,'

She blinked in the darkness, surprised. 'Erik?'

'Don't cry,' He said, softly. Impossibly softly.

'Oh God,' Another tear dripped from her face, a sense of ironic relief washed over her. 'I thought you were dead, I thought they had killed you,'

'No, I'm very much alive,'

'Oh, Erik,' She shifted her body and tried to move to where his voice had come from.

'Stay there,' His voice cut through the heavy air. 'Are you tied up?'

'Yes,' She choked.

She heard him moving towards her. 'Well, I'm not, it's easier for me to move to you,'

'I'm by the wall,'

'I can see you,'

'In this dark?'

She thought he might actually be smiling. 'Yes, this is how I live,'

'Why aren't you tied up?' She asked.

'They untied me,'

'Why?'

He fell silent for a moment before he said, softly, 'They were pretty convinced I wouldn't be able to fight them off,'

'What… they hurt you,'

'A small beating,' she could tell he was trying to sound undaunted but she had become so used to his voice that she heard the slight change in tone.

She began to cry, couldn't stop herself. Then she felt his arm encircle her, pulling her into his chest. He was kneeling and her head rested in the softness under his chin.

'I can't hold you...' She whispered.

He let go quickly. 'I'm sorry,'

'No,' The word came out mixed with a sob. 'My hands... I can't... they're tied,'

She felt him take her wrists gently and then slowly, _carefully_, untie the rope from her hands. When she was free she threw herself into him, wrapping her arms tightly around his torso, pulling him close, breathing him in. He gasped and she loosened her grip.

'I've hurt you,' She whispered.

He shook his head. 'They hurt me, _you_ can hold me as tightly as you need to,'

And so she squeezed him and, after a few seconds, he placed his arms around her again and squeezed her back.

'Did they hurt you?' He asked, she could feel his warm breath in her hair.

'No,' She felt more tears. 'They've got Raoul,'

'Don't worry,'

'He's... they hurt him,'

She felt him nod, hug her a little bit tighter. 'I'm sorry...' a pause and then, 'We'll find him,'

Oddly, even under these circumstances, even in their prison, in the dark, in the little hope she had left of living ... _she believed him._

* * *

Erik clutched Christine to his chest, he could feel her breathing slowly begin to steady and he resisted every impulse within him to kiss her hair. She smelled of peaches. Gently he rubbed her back, in an attempt to sooth her, and he stroked her hair. In return he could feel her hands grip his shirt at the back, she leaned her weight onto him and he sighed gently.

What horrible circumstances in which to have the best moment of your life, he thought.

'How hurt are you?' She asked, after a moment's silence. 'How bad is it?'

He shook his head, feeling the pain shoot through his neck as he did. 'Lets not talk about that,'

She pulled away from him. 'Please...'

'They hit me, that's all,'

'Are you bleeding?' Her voice quivered.

'No,' He lied.

After they had brought him back they quickly realised that the others had not arrived with Christine and so, after tying his legs up, they left him alone in a small room with Gabriele. The younger man had taken a lot of pleasure out of kicking and punching Erik but Erik never made a sound, not a word was spoken. He didn't give Gabriele the satisfaction of knowing that he was hurt, that he was bleeding, that he was sore.

After thirty or so minutes Gabriele stopped and let a couple of the others have a turn, as if it was a sport. After they were done they threw him in here.

The next thing he heard was the sound of Christine crying... and that hurt him more than any of their punches ever could.

His arms were still around her, she was tucked back into his body, and she was starting to feel a little warmer and slightly drier.

'What's happening?' She asked, quietly.

'They want my money,' He answered simply.

She was quiet for a moment before she said, 'Will you give it to them?'

He thought for a minute. 'No,'

'Not even if they threaten to kill you?' She sounded surprised.

He smiled. 'Absolutely not, they can't kill me, if they kill me then they will never find it,'

He felt her swallow. 'If they threaten to kill me?'

'Then I will kill _them_,'

'How?' She asked. 'How, when we are trapped here?'

'You won't be here for long,' He said. 'They are taking you and Raoul somewhere else,'

'How do you know?'

'I heard them talking earlier,'

'And then what,'

Erik shrugged. 'Then I will come for you,'

'How?'

'Don't worry,' He said and this time, he could resist no more, his lips nestled into her hair and he kissed, just softly, where they lay. She squeezed him tighter.

'I'm sorry,' She whispered.

'You already told me that,' He said, gently.

'I know,' She looked up, as if trying to find his eyes. He could see hers almost perfectly. 'But I need you to know that I mean it,'

He fought to catch his breath as it stopped in his throat. 'I know,' He managed to say.

She kissed his chin and he closed his eyes. 'You are wearing your mask,'

'Yes,' He managed. 'They let me keep it,'

She reached up and ran her finger around it, touched the skin next to it, traced the tips along the line of his nose. 'Your face...'

He swallowed hard.

'It doesn't bother me...' She whispered. 'It... I lo...'

As she was about to say more the door to the room burst open and the man he knew as Gerry, and another he did not know at all, came in carrying pistols.

'How sweet,' Gerry said. 'On your feet,'

As they stood Erik found her hand and squeezed it hard, firm, so that she knew. She understood... he would find her... he would _always_ find her.

The lantern was obviously allowing her to see him for the first time and she gasped at the wounds on his face. He shook his head simply, trying to tell her not to worry, telling her that he was fine.

The other man pulled her arm and dragged her to the door and it took everything in his whole body, every piece of restraint, not to grab him and break his neck.

Gerry walked to Erik and he suddenly felt something sharp dig into his side. Gerry moved away and smiled at him. A few seconds past and the room began to blur slightly, everything seemed hazy.

He could see Christine at the door, as he collapsed to the floor, he needed to look at her... needed to see her. He forced his eyes to stay open.

'Erik!' She screamed but Gerry pushed her closer to the door.

'I'm... fine,' He managed to murmur. She heard him, he knew that she had heard him because as they pulled her to the door he heard her say,

'Erik, I love your face,'


	56. Never Too Late

**Chapter 55- Never Too Late**

Laurent groaned and rolled onto his ride side. There was a searing pain in his left shoulder and, as he blinked to focus his eyes, he wondered how long he had been unconscious. He looked up to the ceiling, remembering where he was, and then listened to the sound of splashing coming from his left.

He glanced that way and spotted Scott, lying completely still, surrounded by his own blood, and his heart sank. Scott was dead and the thought made his stomach lurch with a wave of nausea. He wondered now how on earth he would tell his sister.

The next thing he saw was swarms of people enter the room, being led by Philippe De Chagny. They had stopped chanting and were looking around them, at the carnage in the room. He thought it must be a strange sight... there was a body in the water, Scott's body covered in blood, Laurent lying on his side and another body near to the door.

Philippe De Chagny ran over quickly and knelt by his side as one of the other men carrying a torch checked on Scott. Laurent could have told him that this was pointless, that he had not moved in a couple of hours at least. There was no sign of life, no sound coming from him, _he was dead._

'Are you alright?' Philippe asked, placing his hand on Laurent's good shoulder.

Laurent winced. 'Yes, I'm fine,'

'You've been shot,'

'I know that,' Laurent said, a little too sharply. 'Sorry... it's just a little sore,'

'We need to get you some help, a doctor,'

Laurent glanced at Scott again. 'No, we need to get the men who _killed_ my doctor,'

'Did the Phantom do this?' Philippe asked.

Laurent frowned and then shook his head. 'The Phantom has been kidnapped, along with your brother and Christine Daae,'

Philippe's mouth pursed into a grimace, all of the colour drained quickly from his face. 'By who?'

Laurent shook his head again. 'Just help me up,'

Philippe did not move. 'Who has my brother?' He demanded.

Laurent shrugged his shoulders and pulled himself to his feet, wobbling slightly as he straightened up. His head was spinning as he moved towards Scott's body. When he looked down his heart sank again, his whole body began to quiver. He was not sure if it was the shock or the pain, but whatever it was, it was making him feel _very_ unstable.

'Cover him up,' Laurent said, quietly.

The man who was kneeling by his brother in laws side just looked up at him blankly.

'I said,' Laurent tried to cool his temper but it was no use. 'Cover him up, find a cloth, a sheet, anything but _cover him up_... he's... this is too undignified and, if I know Meg, she has followed you down here,' he shook his head. 'She doesn't need to see her father like this,'

The man nodded as another came closer with a sheet of linen and laid it over Scott's body.

Philippe walked over. 'Please,' He said, 'Where is my brother?'

'I honestly don't know,' Laurent managed to say, though his head was spinning furiously. 'But I'm going to find him,'

'Not in that condition you're not,' Philippe stated.

Laurent shrugged again. 'Fine,' He turned and walked towards the table. 'Find him yourself,'

Philippe was quiet for a long moment. There were the sounds of people turning the cellars upside down, a smashing sound came, along with the sound of shattered glass, then a young man walked through from the back holding a mask in the air. Philippe shook his head and turned to Laurent.

'How will I find him?' He asked.

Laurent thought. 'I know these people,' He said. 'I realise I need medical attention but they just killed... they've killed my sister's husband, my nieces father...'

Philippe nodded. 'Enough said,'

'Thank you,' Laurent took as deep a breath as he could manage. 'There _is_ a condition to this,'

'To what?'

'To my helping you find them and your brother,'

Philippe nodded earnestly, 'Name it,'

'You leave the Phantom, you don't hurt him, and you need to understand that he really isn't one of them,'

'He's a murderer,'

Laurent smiled. 'He's a murderer, certainly, and currently, the only reason that Raoul and Christine are probably still alive,'

* * *

She was blindfolded again but not nearly as tightly as before, and in the gap at the top she caught a glimpse of Raoul in the other corner of their new cart. He was awake, semi conscious, but she could see cuts and some blood. She wondered if they had beaten him as badly as they had Erik.

Her hands were tied up again and her ankles were loosely bound, though she was not sure what her captors thought she might do. How could she run when she had no idea where she was and how she would escape? Still, she had no intentions of making it easy for them.

When they had dragged her away from Erik she had kicked Gerry, hence her ankles being tied, and swung her elbow at Benjamin. Unfortunately, she missed and flung herself off balance.

_Erik_.

Christine had felt nothing but despair when they had put her in that room, cold and alone, worried for Raoul, thinking that Erik was dead... _but the sound of his voice_. Somehow the sound of his voice, the tone of his reassurances, everything about his presence had soothed her. It felt so normal to her, to be in his arms, safe and warm and yet it was all so wrong.

When he had pulled her close, when he had kissed her hair, when he had told her he would save them... she had been comforted, she had believed him and she had wanted to tell him, so badly, how sorry she was.

In that moment, when she kissed his stubbled chin, Raoul had not even been in her mind, and that worried her. It had not lasted long, barely a fleeting moment when she was prepared to let everything go, to tell Erik so many things, Raoul was gone.

And how awful she felt now, locked in a carriage across from her injured fiancé. The good and brave man who had fought for her, even though he did not need to. The kind and sweet boy she had known all those years ago.

'Raoul,' She whispered. 'Are you awake? Can you hear me?'

He groaned. 'Christine?'

She tried to reach out but the binds were too much and she was afraid of falling over.

'Thank God you're alive, Christine,' He said softly. 'Thank God,'

'Do you know where they are taking us?' She asked.

She saw a vague movement, as he answered, 'No,'

'Are you alright?'

'Yes,' He sounded breathless. 'Did they hurt you?'

'No,' She said, softly. 'Erik...'

'The Phantom...'

'Erik is alive, he was there,'

Raoul fell silent.

'Do you know what that means?' She prompted.

'No,' He replied.

'It means that we'll be fine, he _will_ save us,'

Raoul coughed gently and then she heard him gasp in pain, she wanted to reach out and hold him and to care for his wounds. 'He will save _you_,'

Christine shook her head. 'He will save us _both_, Raoul,'

'Why?' Raoul snapped. 'Why will he save me?'

'Because he loves me,' Christine said. 'Even now, he loves me. He will save you, he will do it for me,'

Raoul let out a cynical chuckle. 'I don't think so,'

'I know he will, I trust him, I believe him,'

'You love him,'

Christine sighed. 'This is not the time for that, Raoul, not the time to be divided. We need to stand together, we need to believe in each other and you need to trust what I am telling you. We need to have some faith,'

There was despair in his voice. 'He killed so many people,'

'Yes,' She nodded. 'But he didn't kill you,'

* * *

Erik felt a little fuzzy, _completely fuzzy_, in fact. He did not seem to be able to get his eyes, or his mind for that matter, to focus on anything at all. There was a nausea taking him over and he pushed himself to his side, in case he was actually sick.

He could not remember the last time he had vomited, very little made Erik feel sick.

His lungs managed to take in a large gasp of breath and he looked along the floor at a rat scurrying by. There were voices outside the door to the cell and he was sure they had not moved since the others had taken Christine away.

He could only assume that they had been left there to guard him. The room was dark but there was a light coming in now from their lanterns outside. Erik did not need the light under normal circumstances; his vision was just as good in the dark as it was in the light. Currently, though, the light was most welcome. The drug, or whatever it was that they had injected him with, was causing his eyes to blur.

Regaining some composure he knew that if he did not get up or do something then Christine and Raoul would undoubtedly be hurt... Raoul probably killed.

Generally, this wouldn't bother him but Christine loved him, he understood that now and he knew that she would die if she lost him. Erik could not allow that to happen. He knew that Gabriele saw Christine as his bargaining chip and so she was safe from being killed herself but Raoul was a different story.

He began to cough loudly.

After a few minutes the door creaked open and the two guards stepped inside, he recognised both of them from previous meetings with the company, but they did not know him well.

Mistake number one, they came in together.

One moved close and bent down slightly. 'Are you alright?' He asked.

Erik continued to cough and shake his head. 'Can't breath...' He gasped.

'Christ,' The guard said, glancing over his shoulder at the older man behind him.

'Let me see,' The older guard huffed and moved in.

Mistake two, they were both _too_ close.

'Look, Erik, we don't want anything to happen to you... just... calm down...'

Erik thrashed around on the floor, clutching at his throat, coughing and spluttering like he was about to die. The young guard knelt down by his side and put his hands on his shoulders, trying to stop him from moving around so much.

'I'm not strong enough, what if he hits his head and dies?' The young guard said to the older guard.

The other man placed his gun on the floor and knelt down the other side of Erik, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Mistake three, putting his pistol down.

Erik coughed some more until they were both panicking that he might die, that the one thing their boss had left them with would go horribly wrong. They couldn't even be trusted to guard an incapacitated prisoner.

Erik coughed.

Then he shot forward, caught the young man in the nose with his forehead and watched him fall backwards, blood everywhere. He spun on the floor and used the heel of his boot the kick the older guard in the jaw.

He heard the bone snap as the guard fell down, unconscious.

Still a little hazy, Erik managed to clamber to his feet. He stumbled back slightly but regained his balance and took a few long deep breaths. Their fourth mistake was leaving the door wide open, giving him a perfectly unguarded escape route.

He felt sick but he knew what he had to do. He had let her down, he had hurt her again, it was his fault that they were in this situation and he would rectify it, if it was the last thing he ever did. Glancing over his shoulder he assured himself that both guards were out cold and then he walked out of the door, closing it behind him, locking them in.

He followed the corridor alone, feeling short of air, and burst out of the front door feeling the cold night hit him hard. It was raining and the wind had picked up since he was put in there. There were no horses in sight and so he was pretty sure that they had left none there at all. He also had a good idea of where they had taken Christine and Raoul.

Mistake number five was leaving the outside lit by two lamps.

Just to be sure, he began to quickly pile hay into the corridor of the building. It took him longer than he would have hoped, his chest hurt and he felt desperately sick, but he persevered anyway. When the corridor was full of hay he picked up the two lanterns from the sides of the door and threw them inside, smashing them into the hay.

It took mere seconds for the hay to catch alight.

This was good for two reasons, the first, that the two guards inside had no chances of escape, the second, that he would know which direction he had come from.

_Mistakes_.

Their biggest mistake, though, was underestimating him.

_That would be their undoing._


	57. What I've Done

**AN: We're back to the beginning, as it were.**

**Chapter 56- What I've Done**

Laurent could see smoke billowing up into the air in huge, ominous plumes. The smoke was dark and blew sideways as the wind picked up, pushing it over the hills. He figured that the fire must be strong to keep going now that the rain was getting heavier and heavier.

Philippe stood to his right and they were now alone in the dark, looking forward at the vastness of outer Paris. He could see the glow of the fire clearly in the dark night, it hovered on the horizon sending the smoke outwards, signaling its existence.

'Where now?' Philippe asked, spluttering slightly on mouthfuls of rainwater.

'I think towards the fire,'

Philippe glanced at him. 'You _think_?'

'Well, I'm not a walking compass, Comte, but I'd say a burning building at this time in the morning is certainly worth checking,'

Philippe thought for a moment, his face was pale, wet and shiny, it was a stark contrast to his eyes, which seemed dull and almost lifeless. 'What if we're wrong?'

'Then we're wrong,'

There was a sigh. 'I feel as though this is my fault,'

'Wonderful,' Laurent scoffed. 'Self pity is _exactly_ what we need at this moment in time,'

'Insolent,' Philippe spat, but there was no real authority in it.

'Just follow me,' Laurent nodded towards the burning building in the distance.

Laurent did not wait for a response and forged on through the increasing power of the wind, it pushed his shirt against him and he was constantly reminded of his wounded shoulder. The rain was starting to batter them as they moved along, there were trees swinging dangerously low, causing Laurent to jump sideways more than once.

The only part of his that was warm was the syrupy blood that was still oozing steadily from his injured shoulder.

To his credit, Philippe stayed only one step behind and trailed Laurent in relative silence. His earlier protests, though very well put, had fallen on deaf ears. Laurent was not interested in hearing him complain or watching him attempt to take control, it was obvious that there was not enough time for the Comte's foolish pride here.

Laurent's shoulder was throbbing and hot, _burning_ even, and he was starting to feel sick. He knew, though, that he could not give up. There was no doubt in his mind that if Gabriele had captured Christine and Raoul then he would kill them both. He feared for Christine most of all. The only comfort was, that if the fire was where he believed it to be, then Erik was safe and probably in pursuit of Gabriele and the others himself.

His mind drifted to his sister and to Meg, and then it was as if the ground was crumbling. His legs became weak and he dropped to the floor on his knees, feeling the harsh wind sweep over him. Warm hands were on his unhurt arm in seconds and he looked up, through a blur of tears, at Philippe de Changy's concerned face.

It seemed that everything was spinning around him, the wind whistled around them as Philippe struggled to pull him back onto his feet.

'What happened?' Philippe asked, a little breathless. Laurent's heart ached and he could feel hot tear rolling down his cheeks.

'Scott,' he whispered, to Philippe and to no one at all.

Philippe looked puzzled. 'What?'

'Scott is dead,'

The older man sighed and looked down, as if he was upset, as if it was him that was full of sorrow. Laurent wasn't sure what had hit him. The minute he thought of Antoinette, the second Meg entered his mind, he saw only their future without Scott.

_Without the man who had given Laurent his second chance._

'You're swaying,' Philippe said, his voice only just making it over the pitch of the loud wind. 'Are you going to pass out?'

Laurent blinked the tears from his eyes and stared at Philippe. 'No,' He answered but he wasn't sure if it was the truth.

'Are we going to keep going?'

Laurent nodded. 'Yes, yes, I'm fine,'

_Not the time for self-pity._

They walked on in silence and it wasn't long before Laurent could feel the warmth of the fire filtering into the air through the rain. The smell was getting stronger, the air warmer... they were getting close to the source. They trekked through a small village and when they emerged from the other side Laurent could see the burning building barely half a mile ahead of them.

Without thinking about the pain or dizziness he began to sprint and when he heard Philippe's footsteps pounding the ground behind him, he felt somewhat comforted.

'They've been here,' Laurent said when they stopped running. He gulped in air but took in smoke at the same time and began to splutter. He felt Philippe put a hand on his head and push it down.

'Keep below the smoke,' Philippe nodded as the grey clouds wafted above them. They were both soaking wet from the vicious rain but at least it was warm here.

'I know this place,' Laurent let his eyes take in his surroundings, keeping his head low. 'This is where they used to keep...'

'Keep what?'

Laurent glanced at him and shook his head. 'Never mind,'

'What if this was an accident?' Philippe asked. 'What if they're inside... dead...'

Laurent shook his head. 'There are no horses around, none of their carriages, they were here but now they're not,'

Philippe nodded, understanding. 'So who set it on fire?'

Ash was falling down around them with the rain and fire was beginning to slow under the hammering rain. 'I don't know,' he said, but he suspected that it was Erik.

Or at least he _hoped_ that it was.

'Where to now?' Philippe asked as he looked around in the darkness.

Laurent shrugged and then let his eyes scan the ground. 'That way,' He pointed north.

'Tracks?'

Laurent nodded his head. 'Footprints, running,'

'I don't know what you plan to do when you find them,' Philippe's voice was quiet. 'But all I want is my brother and his fiancée out alive and safe,'

'I know,'

'Can we succeed?'

'Yes,' Laurent said, trying to block out the throbbing pain in his arm.

Philippe's eyes drifted back to the smoking building. 'Do you think there was anyone in there?'

'I suspect there was,'

'Who?'

'No one that matters to us,'

Philippe seemed to think for a moment, his eyes flicking from the fire to the tracks in the mud and then back again, before a look of clarity covered his face.

'Lets go then,'

* * *

Antoinette sat with her head in her hands, tears rolling from her eyes and through her fingertips, finally resting on her dress. She was hunched in the corner of the corridor, looking down at the floor, too afraid to look at the door. Silence had filled the room for too long, the mob had been gone for well over an hour and so had Scott and Laurent.

A punch of pain ripped into her heart.

_How could she let them go?_

It was dangerous, she knew it was, anything that involved Erik was probably more danger than they should ever be involved in. It wasn't just that though, that wasn't the whole story and she knew it. Laurent had told her about Gabriele, about how he had planned to rid of Erik months ago.

Now she knew that Erik was not the only danger to her husband and brother, but Gabriele and his company were probably somewhere nearby too.

The two managers had scurried away like cowards, sometime earlier, and had yet to return. Police were occasionally walking through but she knew that they were hoping that the mob would deal with the Phantom, so that they wouldn't have to. What a farce the whole event had been.

She had tried to warn them, tried to tell them how intelligent he was, how devious he could be. God knows, they were already aware how willing he was to carry out his threats. Two more deaths at the Opera Populaire, maybe more before the sun rose in the morning.

The one person she had tried to stop from following the mob was Meg.

She had ignored her and Antoinette's hip was too painful to chase her through the narrow passageway. What an awful woman she was! She prayed that they were all come back safely. How she wanted to reassure Scott, to tell him that she loved him and that there was no one else for her. There was a time that she thought this might be a lie but now she knew.

Their marriage and Meg were the most important things in the world to her and she wasn't prepared to let that go now.

She wiped tears from under her eyes and waited patiently for her family to return in the hopes that someday things would be normal again.

_It was not to be._

* * *

The light was getting closer and he simply could not decide.

Friend or foe?

_Friend or foe?_

He heard their voices; there were three of them, one woman and two men. Erik sighed, _friend_, he thought, at least for now. The company had no woman in it. He struggled to push himself up but it was no good, he was too weak.

'Quickly,' He heard someone say. A man.

'Good God,' the woman of the group, she was close, he could smell perfume.

'What happened to him?' Third voice, younger man.

There was a sudden quiet, all but the whistling of the violent wind over his head, and he started to get worried. They were next to him now, the light was over him, and they were staring. He managed to reach up and touch his face, checking his mask was there. It was a moment before he realised why they were staring and then, as if to confirm it, the woman gasped slightly and the young man said, 'He's covered in dry blood,'

Another moment of silence filled the air before the woman spoke again, 'Is it his _own_ blood... or someone else's?'

Erik felt a hand on his shoulder and he tried to fight it but he was too weak, the older man rolled him onto his back and looked at him with a quiet concentration. He was almost gentle.

After what seemed like an eternity the older man sighed. 'It's his own blood,'

'Good grief,' the younger man said, as he bent down and lifted Erik to his feet. 'What's your name?'

'Erik...' He managed and then he began coughing again, violently, as he felt nausea wash him. The older man quickly stepped to the other side and hooked Erik's arm over his shoulder.

'Hold the light Marianne,'

The woman took the lantern from him and walked just ahead as the two men struggled to carry Erik's almost dead weight through the raging wind and rain. They walked for what seemed a long time before Erik spotted a small cottage not far away.

'We can see now,' The older man said, 'Go ahead, Marianne, and get some water warmed, some cloths and some warm tea,'

Marianne simply nodded and Erik watched the light get further away from him and closer to the building up ahead. The walk down to the cottage was short yet, to Erik's weary body, it seemed agonisingly long. He had one arm around each of the stranger's shoulders and he felt almost ashamed of the situation he was in.

Tired, battered, bruised, bloody and drugged, he was truly drained. He had no doubt that the sickness was his body's way of attempting to get rid of whatever toxin they had injected him with.

They struggled to get him through the front door and they lay him down carefully onto a settee sitting directly in front of a roaring log fire. Marianne was there, and he could see her now. She was young and blonde, round faced... even to Erik, she looked kind. He blinked his eyes and tried to refocus on the two men.

One simply looked like an older version of the other. They both had pale eyes and light hair, were tall and broad, but one was older. Father and son, Erik thought, as he felt a stabbing pain in his side.

'What happened to him?' Marianne asked, staring at the younger of the two men.

'I don't know,' he answered.

'My name is Michael,' the older man said, looking down at Erik, a bowl in one hand, a piece of damp material in the other.

Erik managed a nod.

'This is my daughter in law, Marianne, she has made you some hot tea... to get your strength up,' He tilted his head to the side as if to point the young woman out. 'This is Charles, my son,'

Erik nodded again, showing he understood.

'I'm going to clean the wounds on your face and chest, Erik,' Michael continued. 'I'll try not to hurt you but I can't be sure how bad your wounds are. I'm no doctor but I've lived out here all of my life and I've had to learn, so I can at least help you,'

'Tha...' Erik took a deep breath, as deep as his aching ribs would allow. 'Thank you,'

'What happened?' Michael asked, as he moved Erik's torn shirt to the side and began to clean the wounds that littered his chest.

Erik looked away from him, towards the window.

'It's fine, Erik,' Charles said, his voice was deep. 'You don't have to tell us, we don't need to know,'

He blinked, confused. _Kindness_... being treated with kindness was foreign to Erik and he was not sure how to deal with them. They _seemed_ genuine, though his ever-suspicious mind was still working over all possibilities.

Marianne knelt down next to him and placed the cup to his lips, tilting it slightly as he sipped. It was good. The warmth in their home was good, the tea was helping.

'Marianne,' Michael looked at her. 'You know where I keep er... my...'

She nodded, she didn't make him finish what he was saying.

'Bring me a small vial,' He continued to wipe the cuts of Erik's chest. 'And one of my syringes,'

Marianne stood and walked from the room into a doorway behind the settee. He was left with the two men, he noted that Charles was looking at him with curiosity but Michael was simply working away, trying to help a man he didn't even know.

'I hope the other man looks worse than you,' Michael said, joking of course.

'He doesn't,' Erik said quietly. 'But he will,'

'I can understand that,' Michael nodded. 'I can understand why you would want revenge,'

There was a tone in the older man's voice that Erik couldn't place. He was feeling a little better, more awake at least, but his sides were almost unbearably painful.

Charles was next to speak, 'Revenge won't make this better,'

Erik glanced up at him and winced in pain.

'No, it won't,' Michael added. 'I don't condone it but... your injuries, they _are_... bad, I can understand,'

Erik closed his eyes and all he could see was the look of horror on Christine's face as she was dragged away from him. The sound of her tears, of her fear, the feel of her hair against his lips...

'They have her,' he whispered, to himself but also to the two men who were trying to heal him.

'Who?' Charles asked, turning away from the window.

'Christine,' Erik said, as if they should know who that was. As if everyone should know who that was.

Michael frowned. 'Who is Christine?'

Erik smiled and, oddly, felt the sting of tears in the back of his eyes. 'The love of my life,'

The two men looked at each other and then back at Erik.

'She is the love of my life,'


	58. Round Here

**Chapter 57- Round Here**

Christine's hand found Raoul's in the darkness of their new prison. It wasn't like the cell, it was warm and there were beds, but it was still dark. Only a sliver of light was allowed entry to the room through a crack in the boarded up window. She could just make out the shape of Raoul's shadow.

She wasn't sure why Gabriele and his men had locked them together but Christine had a horrible feeling it was because they expected this to be the last time they ever saw each other. A glance at Raoul's dark figure told her that they might be right, yet she refused to be defeated. She had told Raoul that Erik would come for them, _both_ of them, and she truly believed it.

There were many things in life that Christine knew she would never understand but in the last day she had learnt more than she ever thought possible. She had felt protected, envied... _loved_. She had felt lost, broken and doubtful.

Now she felt a ray of hope. Just feeling Erik so close to her had given her the will to continue. He had told her that he would find her and she honestly believed that he would.

Finally, Raoul's fingers squeezed hers and she knew he was conscious again.

'How are you?' she whispered, knowing that there was at least one guard on the door.

He groaned a little and she felt him stir as he pushed himself into a sitting position. 'I'm not as bad as I sound,'

'The knock on your head was bad,' she said, softly, stroking his hand with her fingertips. She needed him to know that she was there, that she would do anything in her power to help him.

She saw the shadow of his arm move as he touched his head to check the wound. 'It's stopped bleeding so it will begin to heal,' he explained but she was skeptical. He needed a doctor.

'How does it feel?' she asked.

'A little sore,' he said and she heard the trace of a wry smile in his voice. 'And sticky,'

She squeezed his hand.

'I love you,' he whispered, the words softening the edges of darkness as he moved his arm to place it around her waist. 'I won't let them hurt you, Christine,'

She should have been pleased at his words, she should have flung her arms around him and cried into his neck, looking for salvation in the warmth of his embrace but she didn't. Raoul felt the need to protect her constantly, even when she told him that she didn't need the protection, and sometimes his rashness caused them trouble.

There was not a place on the earth nor was there a time where she would ever be able to deny that she loved him. It was a deep love, born of years of friendship, young courtship and the trust in him that comes with knowing someone. He was truly a handsome man, tall and lean, with the softest eyes and most gentle of touches but he would need to learn that she had been through a lot and she had learned to take care of herself.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. 'Talk to me, Christine,'

'I love you too, Raoul,' she said, and she meant it, but she would not lean on him, would not let herself give to his embrace.

He coughed and she rubbed his back gently.

'Are you in a lot of pain?' she asked.

'Not too much,' he said but she knew that it was a lie. Were all men the same? Were they all incapable of admitting when they were hurt?

'Good,' was her only response in spite of the knowledge that he was lying about how badly he was hurt. She wasn't a complete fool, she knew that when you dropped in and out of consciousness then you must be fairly badly injured.

She wondered if it had been she who had given Raoul the impression that she was a damsel in distress. She thought back over the period that she had known him and remembered, with a wince, the day she had met him. He and Philippe had rescued her that day from a group of young tyrants. Perhaps this _was_ her fault, maybe she _had_ given him the wrong impression when they had first met... the idea had obviously stuck.

When she let her mind drift to the last few months she knew that she had been the strong one. Though he might not see it, it had been him and Philippe who lost their heads, convincing themselves that the Phantom of the Opera was beatable.

They had all tried to tell them otherwise, they had tried to convince the two de Changy's that they should let it lie instead of trying to trap him. Madame Giry, Meg, Christine... they had _all_ told them.

'Raoul,' she whispered, but he didn't answer. She reached across and touched his chest and was relieved to feel it rise and fall with his breathing.

He was unconscious again and Christine was now alone with her thoughts.

She wondered if Erik knew that tearing his mask off was an act of kindness. Although her emotions and anger had overflowed in the cellars, she had only torn the mask from his face to save him. Christine knew that Erik could not bear to be exposed that way and she knew he would run... she tried to save him.

He was angry, she would have been too, had it been the other way around.

They said things to each other, hurtful, vicious things but she was so _angry_ with him. For such an intelligent man his logic was always flawed. He didn't need to kill people for her, he didn't have to be so stubborn all the time and he didn't have to kidnap her... if he wanted to talk to her, he only needed to ask.

She wondered then, if he had managed to escape.

* * *

Erik was feeling less weary and was sitting up drinking more warm tea and trying to get his head back together. The older man, Michael, had injected him with a substance that appeared to be morphine... judging by the lack of pain he was now feeling.

'I need to go,' Erik announced and the three Good Samaritans looked over to him. No one had asked anymore about Christine since his painful revelation, they must have assumed it was best left alone. 'How long have I been here?'

'Nearly an hour,'

Erik closed his eyes, squeezed them shut. _An hour_. 'I'm running out of time,'

Michael stood from his seat beside the fire and moved towards him. 'This Christine...'

Erik looked up at him, feeling a burning in his chest.

'You say they have her,' Michael said. 'Do you mean that they have kidnapped her?'

Erik nodded,

'Do you know where they are?'

'I was tracking them,'

Michael turned away and looked of the window. 'The rain has slowed a little, the tracks will still be there, very few people come by this way,'

It was Marianne that spoke next, 'I saw some people earlier,'

The three men turned their attention to her.

'Nearly two hours ago now, while you were working in the cellar,' she looked at Charles and Michael.

'Did you see who it was? Did you recognise them?' Erik urged her to tell him, he needed to know.

She nodded. 'It was Gerry, from the farm,'

Charles shook his head. 'I always knew that man was involved in more than his parents business,'

'It's not too far from here,' Michael said, 'Follow the faint path through the trees you can see in the distance, you can see the farm from the far edge,'

Erik thought for a moment, wondered if they would actually be there. 'I'm not sure they will go there, knowing that Gerry's parents are there,'

Marianne shook her head. 'They are away at the moment, have been for a week or so,'

'It's winter,' Michael shrugged. 'They're doing some travelling, not much to do when your farm grows crops, they will have left it with Gerry,'

Erik nodded, 'When are they expected home?'

'Not for another two or three weeks,' Marianne replied. 'They usually stay away until late March, leaving Gerry to plant and watch over the farm until Spring begins,'

'He does a good job,' Charles mused. 'But there is something very strange about him,'

Erik stood, a little too quickly, and had to steady himself against the fireplace.

'I'm not sure you should be rushing out,' Michael sounded concerned and Erik had to wonder how he found so much room in his heart to worry for someone he didn't even know.

'I'm fine now,' Erik assured him. 'Thank you for your help,'

'They gave you quite a beating,' Michael commented, looking him up and down.

'They'll regret that,' Erik said coolly.

Michael stared at him for a long moment, looked into his eyes and then he said, 'I don't doubt that,'

'I have to find her,' He explained. 'I don't know what they'll do to her,'

Michael shrugged his broad shoulders and flashed a small smile. 'No one is stopping you,'

Erik stood still, dry and warm, the pain eased, his head clearing. He sensed the two men didn't agree with what he was doing, they had made it obvious although they hadn't said it. Erik knew that they would not stop him from finding Christine, their silence about it had told him that they understood, but Erik's plans for revenge were what they objected to.

He walked to the door that they had carried him through a little less than an hour ago. He touched his face, checking that his mask was still in place, and for the first time thought it was curious that no one had asked about it.

They were all staring at him now though.

'You look so familiar, Erik' Michael said, as Erik turned his back to them and opened the door.

He looked over his shoulder.

'I think I knew your mother,'

Erik turned. 'You would know it if you knew my mother,'

Michael smiled. 'Yes, the mask does give it away somewhat,'

Charles and Marianne exchanged confused glances behind the older man.

Erik felt a flash of anger inside him but it was subdued quickly when Michael smiled and said, 'I knew your father too, he was a good man,'

'And my mother?'

Michael shrugged. 'Not my place to say... but your father, _he_ _was_ a good man,'

'One might wonder why he married my mother then,'

Michael smiled.

'Thank you again,' Erik said, as he stepped out into the cold night. It was still raining but the water came down in more of a light mist than a thundering downpour. The wind had eased off and Erik was glad of the respite. He looked ahead and saw the woodland, began walking quickly towards it. He was still too weak to run and his legs ached but he felt better, felt awake and, in a strange way, more alive.

He couldn't remember the last time he experienced genuine kindness, particularly from a stranger, and peculiarly, it made him feel better to have met them.

He had walked barely any distance at all when he heard the sound of hooves thudding dirt behind him. He turned, ready to fight, and was greeted by Michael's face shaded by a hat. Michael climbed from his white horse.

'I trust you can ride,' he said, handing the reins over to Erik.

Erik gripped the leather in his hand and nodded.

'Then God speed,'

Erik didn't question the man's motives nor did he ask where to take the horse when he was done. There was no need for this. As he watched Michael's figure fade back into the distance he sighed at the memory of the way he looked at him.

Michael's face appeared back in his thoughts and he saw the resemblance. He didn't remember his father well but he knew that he and Michael looked very alike.

Almost as if they were brothers.


	59. Numb

**A/N: Sorry it's been a while but two chapters for your perusal. These are the last two pre written chapters, although I am not desperate to get the ending onto paper. Hopefully I will be able to update next week!**

**Thanks for your wonderful reviews and your patience. I'm trying not to let you down.**

**Chapter 58- Numb**

Unsure of quite how she was managing it, Christine was somehow beginning to fall to sleep. She was in that small space between being fully awake and fast asleep. Aware of what was around her yet unable to interact with her surroundings.

_It had been a long day. _

Her breathing had slowed and, although she hated the thought, she felt relaxed. Exhaustion could be a wonderful thing, she thought, as she felt Raoul's warmth beside her. She knew that she should fight to remain awake so that she could care for him but her body seemed unwilling to cooperate and so, there she was, eyes closed, breathing gently, as she began to sleep.

Unfortunately for her weary body, Gabriele Aiton had other plans.

Just as she was descending into the darkness of complete and glorious slumber she heard the loud creak of the door opening. Despite the fatigue, her eyes flew open and she instinctively threw an arm over Raoul. When she glanced at him, she noticed that his eyes had opened too. He sat forward, attempting to alter their positions so that he was the one protecting her but Christine knew that he was still hurt and she held firm.

She turned her eyes upon Gabriele. He had changed, looked refreshed. At least someone had found sleep that night, she thought, although she had no idea how his conscience allowed it.

'Get up,' he demanded, his shadow casting over them from the doorway.

Christine scowled, tired and aching, and said, as firmly as she could: 'No,'

She could just make out the sight of Gabriele's frown and, perversely, it pleased her. 'I'm not asking, I'm _telling_ you to get _up_, I don't have time for you to mess me around,'

She shook her head. 'Not until you get Raoul some help,'

Gabriele laughed, 'He won't need help,'

'It's fine, Christine,' Raoul whispered, 'Do as he says and I will think of something,'

Christine stared from Raoul to Gabriele and then, finally, though not completely willingly, she pushed herself to her feet. Her knees wobbled as Gabriele reached out and grabbed her by the elbow.

'What time is it?' she asked, sounding a lot more casual than she actually felt. Gabriele looked at her with some amusement in his eyes before throwing her into the well-lit corridor.

'It's coming up to five am,' he answered, as he stepped aside so that Gerry could go in and retrieve Raoul. When he dragged her fiance out she was horrified by what she saw. In the light, she could make out his injuries properly. He was covered in cuts and bruises and caked in dried blood. His eyes were both bruised, his hair matted with his own blood.

His shirt was torn.

She didn't want to know what they had done to him when they had locked her away with Erik. Couldn't stand the thought of their fists descending onto his defenceless body, leaving him looking the way he did now.

She thought of Erik, the violet red welts and bruises that had covered his face as well. She wondered where he was and if he was still alive. He had promised to find her and she still thought that there was a chance, albeit small, that he would.

'Bring them both to the barn,' he instructed his two goons as Benjamin grabbed her and Gerry shoved Raoul ahead.

Gabriele walked off in front.

'What are you going to do?'

Gerry turned and smiled at her. 'We're waiting for word from where they're keeping your little friend then we'll deal with you,'

'Why are we going to the barn?' she pushed and Raoul looked at her, horrified and worried.

'Well,' Benjamin began to explain. 'You'll see...'

They walked along the corridor until they were at a door at the far end. Gerry opened it and pushed Raoul through, Christine felt a knock in her back and she stumbled into a large barn.

Gabriele was standing in the middle of it, waiting. 'It's something isn't it?'

'It's a barn,' Christine said simply.

'I'm so glad you still retain your sense of humour,' He smiled, making Christine cringe. 'That will make this part much more fun,'

Raoul stepped forward. 'What part?'

'The part where we torture you both until Erik Lambourne comes up with some cash,' His smile widened to a sick grin. 'Of course, we'll still have to wait for word from one of the guards, they're nearly an hour away... it could be a long morning for you two,'

Christine swallowed but was determined not to show her fear. Raoul leapt forward and tried to grab at Gabriele but Gerry punched him hard in the spine and he crumpled to the floor. Benjamin kicked him, as if for good measure, and Christine dropped to her knees to make sure he was alright.

She wasn't allowed to comfort him for long as Gabriele grabbed her hair and pulled her, roughly, to her feet. He stared into her eyes. 'Now, what can we do to squash _your_ spirit?'

'You can't,' she spat.

'Really,' he scoffed, 'We'll see,'

He dragged her by her hair across the barn, she could hear Raoul shouting and fighting behind her. She wanted to turn around and tell him to stop, that she would be alright, but her stomach was churning. Without thinking she kicked out and caught Gabriele on the shin.

He jumped, loosing her hair.

'That was silly,' he said, as he rubbed his shin.

'Stop pulling my hair,' she growled. 'I'll follow you, there's no need to drag me,'

'You really _do_ need the spirit knocking out of you,'

'You can try,' she knew that she sounded a lot more courageous than she felt, it was a matter of wills now.

Gabriele said nothing else but instead of grabbing her by the hair he clasped his hand around her wrist. She felt that this was a small victory and only hoped that she could hang on for a little longer.

* * *

Laurent was tired and cold, the rain had finally stopped but the throbbing in his shoulder continued to ail him. Philippe looked no worse or better then he felt as they climbed over yet another hill to see into the distance.

'There's a farm someway towards the horizon,' Philippe said. 'A house a little closer… there's smoke coming from the chimney,'

Laurent placed his hand over his eyes as the morning sun began to peek across the top of the trees in the distance. 'I see them,'

'What do you think?' Philippe asked, sitting on the wet earth, for once in his life not bothered about his appearance.

'I know the farm, I think I've been there before,' Laurent answered simply.

'Is my brother there?' Philippe asked, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone.

'There's a chance…'

Philippe turned away and looked off into the distance/

'We should go by the house first,'

'Down there?'

Laurent nodded. 'The people living there might have seen something,'

Philippe pushed himself to his feet and did not argue. Instead he gestured for Laurent to continue their trek and followed him quickly down the other side of the hill. It took them almost twenty minutes but they arrived at the cottage in time to catch a young woman walking out into the garden.

She took one look at the two men and began calling for a man name Michael. As they got closer two burly looking gentlemen walked out of the house behind the woman and stood watching them.

Once they were in ear shot the older man said, 'What do you want?'

Laurent moved closer. 'We're looking for some people who might have come through this way, we were just wondering if you had seen anything,'

'I've seen nothing,' the man replied quickly. 'You've given my daughter-in-law and fright… be on your way,'

'Monsieur, please,' Philippe said, stepping in front of Laurent. On this occasion Laurent was happy to let the aristocracy take control.

'Who are you men?'

'My name is Philippe,' De Chagny answered. 'This is Laurent,'

'Be on your way,' he repeated.

'Please, we're looking for my brother…' Philippe took a deep breath. '… my brother and his fiancée,'

'Why might they be coming this way?'

Philippe shook his head. 'You might not believe this but I am Comte Philippe De Chagny, my brother is Vicomte Raoul De Chagny. He and his fiancée his been kidnapped,'

At those words the young woman's had snapped up and stared at the two men behind her. The men didn't move, however, and they did not look back at her, instead the older man asked, 'You're trying to rescue them?'

Laurent nodded his head, noticing that Philippe was doing the same.

'What is the fiancées name?' The younger man asked.

'Christine,' Laurent replied. 'Her name is Christine,'

The men looked at each other and then, the older of the two said, 'You'd better come in,'

* * *

Hard and fierce desperation clung to Raoul's stomach as he watch Gabriele tug and pull Christine into the centre of the barn. He jumped forward again but there was a hard kick in his back, which sent him tumbling back towards the hay covered floor.

He hit it hard.

'Just stay still,' Benjamin hissed at him.

'What is he going to do to her?' Raoul asked.

'Not sure,' Benjamin replied. 'Anything he likes,'

Raoul jumped to his feet and lunged for the other man, sending them both falling back to the ground, Raoul hit him twice before he felt hand son his back, pulling him away. For his efforts, Gerry hit him in the side with a long, thick piece of wood.

He groaned in pain and rolled over to clutch his side. As he looked up he could see Christine staring back at him, dismay plastered across her lovely face. He wanted to get to her, to save her from these monsters, but all he could do was roll on the floor in pain.

He felt so weak.

Her face in the distance was enough to keep him awake but he wondered how long he could cling on for. His body was aching and raw, his mind hurt and his emotions were laid bare.

'You shouldn't have done that,' Benjamin told him, as he stepped closer. Raoul looked up at him just as Benjamin's foot came down in a vicious stomp.

He heard Christine yelling above the commotion but he couldn't find the strength to look up, though he wanted to, and instead his head lolled to the side and his eyes closed involuntarily. He forced them to open again, only to see the two henchmen staring down at him with malicious grins struck to their faces.

Struggling with his own pain he rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding another kick.

'Leave him!' Christine screamed, her words clear this time.

Brave, strong Christine fighting not for herself but for him. It made his situation seem all the more pathetic and helpless. He needed to help her yet all of his energy was long gone and all he could do was look on powerlessly.

Gabriele reeled back his hand and let it fly, catching her in the cheek and sending her spinning to the ground. Raoul did everything he could to get up but the two guards simply shoved him back to the floor, kicking him again as they did.

To his surprise Christine leapt back to her feet and shouted. 'You're pathetic,'

Raoul wanted to tell her to stop but the words could not find their way to his mouth and he was forced to watch as Gabriele pushed her back to the ground again.

He remembered what she had said to him whilst they were being transported in the carriage and he clung on not to a hope he never thought he would have.

He clung frantically to the hope that the Phantom of the Opera was on his way and, if he didn't save Raoul, at least he would save Christine.

And really, her safety was all that mattered to him.


	60. Mad World

Chapter 59- Mad World

Christine would not lose count, _refused_ to lose count, of the number of times Gabriele Aiton had hit her with the back of his hand. Every blow to her face was another piece of her soul that wanted to destroy him, another beat of her heart that wanted to tear him limb from limb. Each swipe he took made her more resolute, more determined, that she would be stronger and that she would beat him. 

Every time his fist connected with her face she would look back up at him and spit the blood from her broken gum back into his disgusting face. He would smile back at her but she knew that she was getting to him. 

Another strike took her by surprise and she reeled, once again, into the bale of hay situated behind her. Again, she jumped straight back to her feet, stood nose to nose with him and showed him she would not give to his brutality.

Her face hurt more than she would ever tell, more than she would ever let him see. She could feel the swelling coming up around her lip and her eyes but never on this earth would she allow him to see her pain. The satisfaction for him would be too much and greatly undeserved. 

Once more he hit her across the cheek and once more she defied him by staggering, but not falling, and then facing him once again, prepared for the next blow. She could not deny to herself the pain that she was in but he would not win… _he could not win_. 

'He'll be here soon,' Gabriele said, as he took a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped her blood and saliva from his face. 

She stared at him, cold and hard.

'Your friend,' he clarified, but she knew exactly whom he was referring too. 'They're a little late but I have no doubt the guards had a little fun with him before they brought him over,' 

She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly and jutted her chin out, showing him that she was ready for another punch in the face. This time he just laughed and turned away. 

'You're quite a fiery one, aren't you?' he said, without turning around. 'I thought you would be easier to break,'

'You'll never break me,' she said, her heart thumping in her chest. 

'Really?' 

She nodded her head, although he couldn't see her. 

He gestured to the guards to bring Raoul over and, as they dragged him across the floor, she ran forward and threw herself into Gabriele's back sending him spiralling to the floor. Hay flew up as he hit the ground but Christine was still on his back, punching his sides as hard as she could with her fists. 

Gabriele tried to stand but she would not let go, she let her body weight remain on him as she pummelled relentlessly at his sides and then at his head. Benjamin, who had stood in shock for longer than he knew he should, bolted over had grabbed her under the arms hauling off his boss' back. 

She kicked out at him hard until he yelped in pain and dropped to the floor grasping at his shin. She turned to continue her assault on Gabriele but she was too late, he was standing and as she ran towards him his fist connected with her shoulder and sent her back down to the cold ground. 

He rubbed the side of his head as he stared down at her. 'Stupid girl,' 

Raoul was looking at her, too weak to stand, too tired to speak, but his eyes were alive with terror.

'I've had enough of this,' Gabriele snarled, grabbing Benjamin by the arm. 'Make yourself useful and go and look out for the others, they should be here by now,' 

Benjamin took another look at Christine before he limped out through the main doors to the barn.

'Right,' Gabriele turned his attention back to Christine. 'You have trodden on my last nerve now,'

'Did I hurt you?' she asked, mocking him. 

He swung for her again but this time she managed to move aside and she could almost feel Raoul breath out in relief. 

'Tie her up,' 

'No,' Raoul managed and Christine looked over to him.

'Shut him up, he should be almost dead by now!' Gabriele snapped. 'Can't get the staff,' 

Gerry looked over at him helplessly. 'I can't tie her and watch him at the same time,'

Gabriele groaned. 'Tie him first,' 

Gerry waited, as if he couldn't quite work out what to do next.

'_Then_ tie her,' Gabriele sighed.

Without saying anything else Gerry pulled a long length of twine from his pocket and set to work binding Raoul's ankles. Despite being weak Raoul kicked out but Gerry was in much better condition and simply held him down. 

Finally, he tied her fiancés wrists and left him propped up against the wall in the corner of the room. As he turned his attention to Christine two of the other members of Gabriele's group entered the room with Benjamin at their side.

'Any sign of them?' Gabriele asked, as his eyes flicked to the gun Benjamin was now holding. 

Benjamin said nothing.

One of the younger looking workers answered for him, 'The barn was set alight,' 

Gabriele stared at him for a long moment, a fleeting glimpse of confusion crossing his features. 'What of the guards?'

'Feared dead,' Benjamin said, obviously relaying what the other two had told him. 

'Dare I ask..?'

'There is no sign of Erik Lambourne,' 

Gabriele kicked out in rage, catching a clump of hay, sending it flying up into the air. 'Didn't they drug him!'

'_I_ drugged him,' Gerry answered. 

'Obviously not enough,' Gabriele snapped. 'You bloody idiots,' 

They all looked down at their feet and Christine felt a sudden warmth creep into her chest. She even noticed that Raoul's eyes had widened at the news that Erik was no longer in their captivity. 

'I told you,' Christine said. 

Gabriele spun around to face her. 

'I said he would come for me,' she explained. 'And he is,'

And then Gabriele did something that chilled Christine to the core of her soul. He began to laugh.

* * *

_There is no sign of Erik Lambourne._

Raoul let the sound, the tone of those words tingle in his ears for a few seconds after they had been spoken. It would appear that the Phantom of the Opera was now free and, if he was a man of his word at all, he was on his way to them now. 

On his way to rescue Christine.

Raoul could feel the energy draining out of him every second he lay on the floor, every time the rope dug into his wrists, every kick he received took a little but more away from him. He was almost positive that he wouldn't make it out of the barn alive but now there was hope for Christine and Raoul simply allowed that thought sink in.

What confused him now, though, was the sound of Gabriele's cold laughter. 

'You were right,' Gabriele conceded, staring at Christine, who stared back with equal ferocity. 'He is coming for you,'

Christine nodded her head. 'He'll kill you,'

Again, Gabriele laughed. 'I expect he will try,' 

This time Christine's sarcastic laughter filled Raoul's senses. 'He will try! He will _succeed_, Monsieur,' 

Raoul had never heard Christine speak this way before, with such venom, such animosity. Her eyes were cold and her mouth bitter but Raoul hung to every word as if it were his very own lifeline. The sound of her voice was keeping him sane. 

'I will be long gone by the time he gets here,' Gabriele said to her and Raoul felt confusion creep into him. 'But still… you three,' he pointed at Benjamin and the other two brutes, 'Go outside and guard the perimeter, we wouldn't want Monsieur Fantome to sneak up on us now, would we?' 

The three men quickly looked at each other and then exited the barn in different directions. Once they were gone Gabriele instructed Gerry to go and fetch his sword. 

'Wouldn't you prefer your pistol?' Gerry asked.

Gabriele simply stared at him. 

'Not for this, no,' Gabriele smiled at Christine and Raoul felt his blood boil through his veins. 'I won't be here by the time Erik graces us with his presence.'

'Then what is the sword for?' Gerry asked, but Raoul needed no explanation. 

Gabriele sighed and grabbed Christine by the hair, flinging her to the ground next to Raoul. He pressed his body to hers, feeling her warmth run through him. She smelt of fight and spirit and he loved her even more for it. 

'We're cutting our losses Gerry,' Gabriele explained.

'No money?' 

'Not at this rate,' 

'Are you scared of him?' Gerry asked.

'Don't be a fool,' Gabriele snapped but Raoul saw the cruel colour of fear in his eyes. 'Get my sword,'

Gerry left through the door he had entered in, leaving the barn with just the three of them. Raoul struggled against his binds but it was no use, they were too tight and Gabriele was so eagle eyed there was no way that Christine would be able to untie him without the other man noticing. 

Gabriele began to pace.

'He's frightened,' Christine whispered, her hand resting on his forearm.

Raoul almost laughed. 'He isn't frightened, my love, he's utterly _petrified_,' 

Christine smiled and squeezed his arm. 'He's going to kill us,'

'How far away do you think the Phantom… I mean, Erik … how far away do you think Erik is?'

Christine's sigh told the whole story. 'He was badly hurt… I really have no idea,'

'Lets hope not too far,'

She nodded. 'Let us hope,'

'You'll be save, Christine,' Raoul whispered. 'He will kill me first and Erik will make it in time to rescue you,'

'He'll be here for you too,' 

Raoul looked at her, feeling a sadness wash over him. 'I'm not sure I'll make it,'

'Don't talk like that, Raoul,'

'I'm being truthful,' he said softly. 'I feel so tired,' 

'He'll be here soon, I'm sure of it,' 

As Raoul was about to give his answer, to declare his love for her, to tell her that she should move on from him, that she should not mourn him… the door burst back open and Gerry placed Gabriele's sword into his boss' hand. 

Gabriele stared down the length of the glimmering metal and smiled. 'I was hoping that this would last a little longer,' he said, looking over then at Raoul and Christine.

'He's coming,' Christine said simply, just as Raoul didn't think it possible to love her anymore. 

'I only wish I could stick around to see him,' 

'But you can,' she said, her tone mocking and rocking the very foundations he stood on.

'Stand him up,' Gabriele said to Gerry, ignoring Christine's comment. Raoul felt strong hands under his arms as he was pulled roughly to his feet and pushed towards Gabriele. 'You're first,'

'I had no doubt that I would be,' Raoul said simply, feeling for the first time, a fear for his own life. He took a quick glance back at Christine, seeing tears well up into her glorious eyes. 'Do your worst,' 

Gabriele lunged at Raoul but even with his hands tied, even as tired as he felt, he wanted to live. Raoul jumped to the side and Gabriele missed him by a few inches. 

'That was very funny,' Gabriele said, looking over at him.

'You didn't think I would just stand here did you?' Raoul asked.

'Of course not,' Gabriele smiled, turning the sword in his hands. 'It's all in the name of good sport,'

'In the name of good sport why don't you hand me a sword and untie one of my hands?' Raoul joked.

Gabriele laughed. 'You think you could beat me with one hand behind your back,' 

Raoul simply smiled at him. 

'I don't have time for that,'

Christine screamed. 'No!' 

'Shut her up,' 

'Please don't!' she shouted, sending echoes around the barn. 

'Shut her up…'

'Gerry raised his hand to strike Christine across the cheek but as his hand came back a voice cut into the bleakness of the room.

'Gerry,' it said. 'That isn't a very wise idea,'

And Raoul suddenly knew that Christine was finally safe.


	61. Last Request

**A/N: Hope you enjoy the next chapter- this is rapidly coming to an end and I'm sure you'll agree, **_**it's about time**_

**Chapter 60- Last Request**

For a moment Christine actually thought that her heart had stopped beating. She looked up at Gerry's right hand, hanging in the air above her head, and almost let out a sigh of relief. Although she knew that her ordeal was not yet over, she knew it was about to be. 

The sound of Erik's voice creating a crack in the atmosphere had been music to her ears, and when she found the courage to look over at Gabriele, she knew that now, even _he_ realised that it was all over. 

Raoul had stepped back away from Gabriele's sword as their captor looked frantically around, trying to find the origin of Erik's voice. There was no sign of him. Gerry's hand dropped back to his side, and he now looked around too, as if trying to help his boss. It was no use of course because Erik was the master at this. 

They could look forever and _never_ find him… unless he _wanted_ to be found. 

Raoul turned and moved towards her, no one stopped him, and in the absence of the ability to wrap her arms around him, she simply stared. 

'Untie her,' came the command as it echoed ominously around the cavernous barn.

Gerry stared around him again. Still, no sign on the infamous phantom, and so, Gerry took Christine's hands and began to untie the binds.

'Stop it!' Gabriele demanded. Gerry's fingers paused over the twine and he glanced into the room, back at Gabriele. 

'I think we…'

'Don't _think_,' Gabriele spat. 'And _don't_ untie her,'

'But…'

'Don't!' Gabriele snapped. 

'Your temper worsens, Monsieur,' Erik said, from somewhere. 

'Show yourself, Erik, I've had enough of your game,' Gabriele's grip tightened on the weapon in his fist and Christine watched as his knuckles whitened.

'But Gabriele, we're not playing _my_ game,' Erik said, and then the soft tone of his voice changed, hardened: 'We're still playing _yours_,'

Christine could see sweat gathering around Gabriele's temples as he continued to look around him, as if he had no idea where he was, as if he was completely lost. 

Gabriele swallowed. 'Grab the girl, take her inside,' 

Gerry stared at him like he had lost his mind. The young minion's eyes were wide in disbelief and he looked from Christine to Gabriele and then back to Christine. His face was so covered with fear that she almost felt sorry for him… _but not quite_. She would not forget that he was a part of this and she would not forget what he had done to Raoul.

When Gerry made no attempt to move, Gabriele shook his head: 'That wasn't a request,' he snapped. 

Cautiously Gerry stepped towards Christine again and took her hands, far more carefully than before, in his. As they began to walk away Erik said, strangely, 'Where do you think I am, Gerry?' 

His voice was all around them but Gerry did not respond. 

'Gerry, that _was_ a request,' Erik boomed. 'Where am I?'

'In here,' Gerry choked, eyes flicking from side to side.

'Am I?'

Gerry's eyes darted nervously and Christine could feel his palms dampen with perspiration. Gerry nodded his head, lacking the confidence he would have needed to hold his own against Erik. There was no sympathy in her body for these men and when she glanced at Raoul she saw that he felt exactly the same way. 

'Am I in the barn?' Erik asked again.

'I can hear your voice in the barn,' Gerry swallowed, looking more and more like a lost child with every second that past. 

'Yes, but does that mean that I am _in_ the barn?'

Gerry looked over his shoulder. 

'Are you absolutely sure I'm not in the farm house?' Erik questioned him. Christine looked at the young man, _was he sure_?

This time it was Gabriele who answered, irritation masking his panic in his voice. 'He's in _here_ somewhere, Gerry, move it!' 

Taking one quick glance back at his boss Gerry let out a low grunt and tightened his grip on Christine's arm. He wasn't hurting her anymore, he wouldn't dare, but he obviously saw that there was more logic in what Gabriele was telling him than what Erik had said. 

He led her by the wrists to the door and then stepped through it, as he did Gabriele shouted, 'Close the door behind you,' 

Gerry did close the door as he walked Christine through it. 

Closing that door was the last thing he ever did.

* * *

Raoul was left in the barn, facing Gabriele alone, with his hands still tied. 

'You understand,' Gabriele said, speaking more quickly than he had previously. 'That this isn't personal,' 

'You mean, you kidnapping my fiancée and I, and then beating us both to a bloody pulp?' Raoul asked, feeling tired and in pain, but staring at the man in front of him as if he would a pile of manure on his boot.

Gabriele forced a smile and shrugged his shoulders. 'Come on then Erik,' 

There was no response. 

'Erik, I'm tired,'

Still nothing, not a word, the eerie silence that now surrounded them was enough to make Raoul take another step forward, into the barn. He wanted to see all around him, he couldn't understand why the Phantom was no longer speaking to them, no longer taunting and mocking. 

Gabriele sighed. 'Fine,' he raised his voice and then he raised his sword. 'I'll take care of le Vicomte first, _then_ you and I will talk,' 

Raoul suddenly realised the mistake he had made in wandering back into Gabriele's path and stumbled backwards to get further away from his tormentor. As the other mans sword plunged down Raoul managed to dive to the side, falling as he did and coming to rest in a bale of hay. 

Gabriele was shaking his head as he walked over. 'Don't make this any harder than it has to be,' he said, as he raised the sword again.

It was at that moment that the door to the bar re-opened with a crash, causing Gabriele to turn around quickly and lower his sword.

The Phantom walked out, sword in his left hand, Christine to his right, mask neatly placed across the left side of his face. His face looked saw and bruised, he was covered with cuts and dried blood, but still he cut an imposing figure. 

Somehow he was taller than Raoul remembered, broader and stronger than he had hoped.

Gabriele actually laughed when he saw him. 'Amazing,'

The Phantom said nothing as he walked towards them, making Christine stand behind him.

'You should have let me kill him,' Gabriele said, indicating that he meant Raoul with a tilt of his head. 'You would be long gone with your little treasure here and things needn't have come to this,'

Still the Phantom remained silent, his piercing eyes stayed fixed to Gabriele's, his face was utterly, and frighteningly, expressionless. 

It was Christine who broke the silence. 'Raoul, come to me,' her voice was soft and inviting and Raoul became so fixated he found the energy to begin to push himself to his weary feet. 

As he did Gabriele stepped across and pushed him back down. He fell awkwardly, twisting his back, and for the first time he actually called out in pain.

This time the Phantom said, 'Don't be a fool, Gabriele,' 

Gabriele smiled coolly. 

'Let the boy leave,' 

'You _must_ think I'm a fool if you think I'm going to let him go and get untied so he can help you,'

'Christine and I have an agreement,' The Phantom's voice came so softly it could easily have been a whisper in the wind and Raoul was amazed that such a soft sound could come from such a vicious man.

Gabriele frowned.

'She and Raoul and going to leave now,' he explained. 'You and I are going to stay,'

'And I am supposed to believe _that_?' 

'I am nothing if not a man of my word,' the Phantom replied and when Gabriele said nothing further the ghost fixed his sharp eyes onto Raoul and said, 'Go,'

Raoul once again dug deep and found the strength to push himself up but this time there was no resistance from Gabriele. As he moved past he was careful to put some distance between his-self and his captor. Once he knew he was safe he stumbled without care towards Christine and allowed her now unbound hands to wrap around him, pulling him into a tight hug. 

As she squeezed he felt pain tear through his ribs but just the feeling of being in her arms nullified the sensation and he let her hold him for a long moment.

When the embrace ended, he turned around and saw that the Phantom had not moved, had not turned to look at them. His attention was for Gabriele and Gabriele alone. 

Raoul kissed Christine's soft cheek, felt tears as he stared at the bruises on her beautiful face. She untied him carefully.

'I want to stay,' he whispered. 

Christine shook her head. 'We can't,'

'Why not?' Raoul asked.

'Because I gave him my promise that we would go now and we wouldn't look back,' she said gently. 'That's what we're going to do,'

'What if…'

'Erik can handle this, Raoul,' 

'What was your agreement?' he whispered.

Christine shook her head. 'We need to go,'

'Please…'

'He told me that if I would not agree to leave immediately after you were rescued, then he would leave you with Gabriele and take me with him,' she said.

Raoul's heart thudded, 'Would he do that?'

'Of course he would,' Christine said. 'Lets go,'

Raoul risked one more look over his shoulder and saw than now, the two men were facing each other. 

'Go,' the Phantom said firmly, without turning around. 

Christine grabbed Raoul's hand and he felt her warmth pour into him. 'The front door is unguarded,' she said, and pulled him towards their exit. 

'Goodbye, Christine,' Raoul heard the Phantom say, as he pulled the door shut behind them.

* * *

'Just you and me,' Gabriele said, watching Erik carefully.

Erik smiled a half smile that vanished quickly from his face. 'I warned you,' 

'So you did,'

Erik could see the fear dance in Gabriele's anxious eyes. 'You hurt her, Gabriele,' 

Gabriele didn't reply. 

'I told you,' Erik said, tilting his head to the side and taking a good luck at the man he was about to kill. 'What did I tell you?' he lifted his eyebrows. 'I told you not to hurt her, _never_ to hurt her,' 

Still, Gabriele's silence spoke volumes. Erik could almost smell his terror.

'She was bruised,' Erik said, softly, staring at the younger man. 

'If you'd just given me the money…'

Erik looked down at his sword and at Gerry's blood streaked along its edges. 'This isn't about money, Gabriele, this is about you,' 

'I don't suppose I can talk you into making an arrangement with me so that…'

'No,' Erik said simply.

Gabriele looked down at his own sword and then, reluctantly, worked his way into a fighting stance. 

'You're a fool,' Erik said.

Gabriele leapt forward, probably thinking that taking the initiative in the fight might help him in some way, might put him onto the front foot, as it were. He was wrong. Erik moved the side and brought the handle of his sword down on Gabriele's back. 

Somehow the young man kept the sword in his hand as he fell to the ground and skidded along the floor. Erik turned and faced him again but Gabriele was quick to his feet and was already walking gingerly back towards him. 

As Gabriele came forward again, Erik held out the blade and touched the young man's sword. This signalled what would be the beginning of the end as each man moved and turned, twisted and danced away from each other. 

The clanking and smacking of the two weapons sent echoes around the room and seemed endless in their own world. Gabriele lunged again, Erik stepped deftly to his right, letting Gabriele lose his balance and stumble into the wall. 

His sword dropped the ground and Erik kicked it away quickly, holding the point of his own weapon at Gabriele's exposed throat. 

'You hesitate,' Gabriele breathed. 

Erik smiled. 'I want you to suffer,' 

'You should just kill me,'

Erik nodded. 'You're right,' 

He held his sword firmly and pierced into the younger man's skin, as he was about to pull the blade across Gabriele's neck he heard the back door to the barn crash open and there was a pistol shot. 

He almost felt the air move around him as the bullet whistled past him and buried itself into the wall opposite. 

Erik turned quickly, sword in hand, to be greeted by the faces of three members of Gabriele's company. One was holding a pistol, one a shotgun and the other a long sword. 

Before Erik would react he felt Gabriele's foot sweep around and bring him off balance, send him to the ground and his sword spinning away from him. 

'You took your time,' Gabriele snarled at the three men who had just entered. 

'Sorry,' the oldest answered. 

'Erik,' Gabriele smiled down at him. 'How the tables have turned,'


	62. Bleeding Love

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews, they are much appreciated, as always. Long chapter and probably not as long as it needed to be**

'_And in this world of loneliness I see your face,' –'Bleeding Love' Leona Lewis._

**Chapter 61- Bleeding Love**

Christine could barely catch her breath as she gripped Raoul's hand in their ascent through the nearby woodland. When they had almost reached the pinnacle she felt a hard tug on her hand, which brought her to a sudden stop. She turned and looked at Raoul only to find that he was standing shaking his head.

'We need to go,' she said, feeling the inclination to escape but fighting the feeling that she should remain and wait for Erik. It was a feeling that tore her inside but she had made a deal, made a _promise_, and she was not prepared to betray Erik's trust again.

Raoul shook his head again and turned around, so that he was facing the farm with his back to Christine. After a deep sigh and a long pause, he said, 'Something is wrong,'

Christine allowed her eyes to drift out onto the farm, now soaked in the splendid morning sun with only the smell of drying grass hinting that there had been a storm the night before. When she saw nothing out of the ordinary, she turned back to Raoul. 'What is it?'

Raoul took a step back in the direction they had just come and then he hesitated, staring out again. 'I don't know, I heard something,'

The farm looked so peaceful that it was hard to believe that down in the barn there was something dreadful happening, it was difficult to comprehend that less than a hour ago both she and Raoul were tied up and being subjected to varying amounts of brutality.

Shameless violence.

'What did you hear?' she asked, feeling her heart pound in her chest. She knew that Raoul had been reluctant to leave, she knew that he wanted revenge for what Gabriele and his thugs had done to them… _to her…_

'I don't know…' his voice was quiet, so much so that she stepped closer to him so that she could hear him properly. 'Something out of place,'

'I didn't hear anything,' Christine admitted, though she knew that this alone did not mean that the sound had not occurred. After all, she could barely hear anything over the resonance of her pulse beating in her eardrums.

A frown crossed Raoul's face. 'Like a _snap_,'

'A snap?' she asked.

He nodded his head. 'Almost like stepping on a twig,' he clicked his fingers for emphasis.

'I didn't hear it,' she repeated, an eagerness to escape suddenly taking her over.

Raoul obviously could not sense her discomfort and took another step back the way they had come, 'Something isn't right,'

His eyes scanned the farm and then his head lifted and he looked out at the horizon, Christine did not know if Raoul knew what he was looking for but her nervousness increased with every second she stood on the hill.

'Why did he tell us to leave?' Raoul asked, finally turning to face Christine.

She shrugged her shoulders, only knowing what Erik had told her but never really knowing his intentions. 'He wanted to make sure we were safe,'

Raoul shook his head. 'He wanted to make sure that _you_ were safe,'

His eyes made their way back down to the farm as Christine said, 'Either way…'

'But he was _there_,' Raoul's frown deepened, as if he could see something far away, that Christine had no chance spotting.

'I don't understand…'

'If he was there, he would have known you were safe, surely?' Raoul said, logically.

'He wanted to make sure,'

'Why?'

'I don…'

'Why?' Raoul was shaking his head as he took yet another step back down the hill. He was nearly out of the woodland now and the sun was catching the toes on his boots. 'Christine…'

She looked up at him, suddenly hearing the urgency in his tone, as he began to run down the hill. She followed running behind him. 'What are you doing?'

He turned to her. 'Stay there!'

'Where are you going?'

He was breathing hard, still pale and weak yet he somehow found the energy to run. 'He knew you were still in danger Christine!'

'I…'

'Where are the guards?!' He stopped and ran his hand over his face.

She looked around her. 'I don't know,'

'They're not here,' Raoul said. 'They're inside, with Gabriele… _Jesus_… he's committing bloody suicide sending us away…'

And then, like a bolt of lightening, it hit her, almost knocking her off her feet. 'He sent me away because he knew the guards were armed,'

Raoul nodded. 'And he knew they were going to go back in after a while, he knew they would find him there,'

'And kill all of us,'

Raoul began to run again and Christine stood, motionless, watching after him. As he ran towards the farm he lifted a piece of wood and disappeared from her view. She wanted to chase after him but suddenly all of her fight was gone and she felt nothing but cold despair.

Erik had essentially sacrificed himself so that she would be safe and happy, now the man she had fought for was doing the same.

In the end, as hot tears streamed down her cheeks, she wondered if either of the men she cared for, would make it out alive.

* * *

Gabriele had made sure that he had kicked Erik's sword, and any other potential weapons, well out of the phantom's way. Erik was looking up at him and as he did he noted that an air of inevitability now surrounded them all.

On his way into the building he had seen all of the guards dotted around the area, keeping their eye on most of the entrances. He had seen their weapons and it had dawned on him that only two people could make it out without being seen.

Three was too much danger and Erik knew that unless it was Christine and Raoul that escaped, Christine would never be able to find happiness again. She was not meant to be with Erik, she wanted to be with Raoul. The realisation had been hard to take, it hurt him to even picture her face in his mind… it hurt him more to imagine her smiling at the young De Chagny.

He knew what he was doing was right… for the first time he was doing what was truly right for her… for Christine, _for his love_.

Christine had taken some convincing but Erik had always been good at talking her around to his persuasion and in the end she had agreed to leave with Raoul.

It was to his heartbreak that he would never see her beautiful face again, or hear the angelic sound of her singing to one of his soft melodies or listen to the way her voice sounded when she laughed as if she had no cares in the world. The glorious yet simple faintness of her touch when she reached for him, the smell of her apple blossom hair as she moved away, the gentle smile that she, he hoped, reserved only for him…

All of which were gone to him now.

In return for her agreement to leave he had promised to contact her once more as soon as he escaped, so that she knew he was alive and well.

It was the first and only promise that Erik ever intended to break.

'I should slice your heart out,' Gabriele spat, holding his sword out towards Erik.

Erik didn't respond, he simply looked back up and stared the younger man dead in the eye.

'I _would… _well, if I thought you had one, anyway,' Gabriele laughed and shook his head. 'I can't believe you let her leave with that sap, you would be long gone by now if you had left him with me,'

Still, Erik kept his silence.

'I'm trying to figure you out,' Gabriele said, as he turned the sword in his hand. 'Help me here… why would you let them leave together?' He sighed. '_Why_?' his smile was brief. 'There are only two things I can think of, only two reasons, a person would do that,'

Erik looked away.

'Number one,' Gabriele continued, as if he had not even noticed the sheer and unadulterated contempt in Erik's blue eyes. 'You hate me so much that you wanted them both gone so that you could kill me… in any way you wanted,'

Erik said nothing.

'Number two,' Gabriele said. 'You really love her _that_ much… that you would forgo your own happiness so that she could have hers,'

The other members of the company were standing near to where they had entered, by the back door, they hadn't moved much and seemed to be enjoying Gabriele's little speech.

_At least someone was._

'Now,' Gabriele smiled. 'I don't think you have that amount of love if you, Erik, because you and I are very alike,' Erik glared back up at the younger man but Gabriele's smile only widened. 'You've done exactly what I would have done… you hate me _that_ much, I should be flattered.'

Erik smiled. 'I'll kill you,'

Gabriele's laugh was loud and brash. 'Obviously, you don't quite yet fully understand the predicament you're now in,'

'I understand, perfectly,' Erik said. 'But before this is over… I _will_ kill you,'

'This is over now,' Gabriele grunted, as he raised his sword above his head. Erik wondered which way he should roll to get out of the way. It was a split second decision, a matter of life or death, and if he guessed wrong, he would most certainly die at Gabriele's vicious hand.

Gabriele's sword came down and Erik rolled quickly to the left with his eyes briefly closed. The sound of metal on stone assured him that he had chosen the right direction and Gabriele's sword had felt nothing but rock.

When he opened his eyes he saw Gabriele shaking his head and raising his sword again. There was only one way for Erik to roll this time and Erik knew that Gabriele had that angle completely covered. As the sword came up a loud clanking noise shattered the tense silence and Gabriele turned around to face the guards.

Erik looked up and saw that Raoul de Chagny was standing over Benjamin with a large piece of wood. The clanking noise, as it turned out, was the shotgun clattering to the ground and then under a pile of straw.

One of the other guards apprehended Raoul quickly and threw him to the ground but Benjamin remained in the floor, a small pool of blood forming around his skull.

'You _are_ full of surprises,' Gabriele said.

Erik shook his head at Raoul, who simply shrugged his shoulders.

'So neither of you get the girl,' Gabriele smiled.

'Wrong,' Erik said, as his feet twisted around Gabriele's ankles sending him falling to the ground. Erik leapt onto his back and pushed Gabriele's face into the floor.

The sound of the pistol going off again was enough to turn Erik's attention. This time, the guard had not risked shooting towards Erik but had instead fired a warning into the air and was quickly reloading his weapon.

Erik balled his hand into a tight fist and brought it down hard onto the back of Gabriele's head, sending his face, brutally, into the floor. Gabriele's nose immediately burst open with blood and Erik hit again, with more force, making the younger man's head jerk up and down.

The guard with the pistol shouted. 'Stop! I'll shoot,'

Erik knew that the guard wasn't going to chance hitting his boss by firing at Erik and so, when he did look up, he wasn't at all surprised to find that the man was pointing the gun towards Raoul's chest.

'Do you think I care what you do to _him_?' Erik snarled, taking another swipe at Gabriele's head and connecting hard. The young man groaned but didn't try to fight him off anymore.

'Yes,' the guard said. 'Gabriele's wrong,'

Erik looked over at him, the pistol was still aimed outright, still pointed at Raoul's chest. 'Wrong?'

'About your reasons for letting them go,' the guard shrugged his broad shoulders. 'It's number two, you do love her _that_ much,'

Erik sat still for a moment, and then he sighed, rolling himself off Gabriele and pushing himself to his feet. 'Let him go,'

'Can't,' the guard said. 'We've got to deal with both of you now,'

'You would do this for him?' Erik nodded his head at Gabriele who was beginning to get his bearings back.

'He pays me,'

'With what?' Erik laughed but as he was about to explain that Gabriele had spent all of the money the guard was hoping to be paid, he felt a hard punch in his side that crumpled him to his knees.

Gabriele's nose was dripping blood as he took another swing at Erik, catching him in the jaw and making him fall to the side. As Gabriele reached for his sword the side door, to the right of the guards burst open and, in a blur, the guard with the gun was pulled the floor by what looked like a black mist. As the commotion settled and the second guard ran over to help his friend, Erik realised that the black mist was Laurent, and Raoul was suddenly back on his feet pushing the other guard to the ground.

Erik watched as Laurent's fist lifted and smashed into the guards nose and again as he threw him to one side and pulled himself to his feet, holding his arm.

Raoul and Laurent secured the two guards as Gabriele dropped his sword and began to run towards the door. Laurent was too occupied to stop him and Gabriele past him with ease but Erik wasn't finished yet, not by a long way.

He leapt to his feet and ran after the younger man, jumping at him and wrestling him back to the ground. On the floor they traded punches until Erik could no longer work out what blood belonged to who. He flipped Gabriele over and punched him in the jaw, pinning him down.

'You two,' he shouted at Laurent a Raoul. 'Get out of here,'

Laurent looked at Raoul and they both stood still. Erik was not in the mood.

'Find Christine and _go_,'

Raoul did not need to be told more than twice. He whispered something to Laurent and with a nod of his head Laurent said goodbye and followed Raoul out of the building.

When he could no longer hear their footsteps outside, he looked down at Gabriele and said, 'Just the two of us, a little fairer, I think,'

He got up and let Gabriele stagger to his feet.

It was when he saw Gabriele smiling that he knew something had gone wrong.

'_Not_ the two of us,'

Erik spun around to face the front door, where Christine was standing, open mouthed, staring at them both.

'Christine,' Erik managed to say before he turned to see Gabriele raising his gun, not at him, but at Christine.

The younger man took a step closer as Erik lifted his sword from the floor and began to run at him. He could hear Christine's voice but not her words, it spurred him to run and run, Gabriele pulled the trigger as Erik managed to get into front of him and lunge forward, towards him, the point of his sword outstretched as he did.

His weight pushed him on as he felt the sword pierce Gabriele's flesh and skim a rib as it found its way to the younger man's heart. The full force of Erik's dive sent the sword through and his momentum carried it forward, so that Erik ended lying on top of Gabriele, still grasping his sword and breathing hard. When he looked down, Gabriele's eyes were open and lifeless, Erik's aim had been good.

It wasn't until he heard Christine's screams that he felt the pain in his own body and warmth in his midsection. He rolled to his back and stared down at his body, at the blood pouring from the wound that was straight through the middle of his body.

He wanted to tell Christine that she should go now, that she was safe but the words simply would not come, and as a coldness settled around his hands, he found he no longer had the energy to keep his eyes open and they closed… just as Christine's beautiful face came into view.


	63. The One I Love

**A/N: As I wrote, I listened to 'Adagio for Strings' composed by Samuel Barber. You've definitely heard it, even if you think you haven't. If you don't remember, I highly recommend that you remind yourself… it's an absolutely stunning piece of music, though possibly the saddest I have ever heard.**

**Thank you for the reviews, I'm going to try to get around to replying to them individually at some point. Know that they're appreciated. **

**I was tempted to leave this as a 'Lost in Translation' moment (those of you who have seen it will know exactly what I am talking about by the time you finish the chapter) but I suspect I will clarify in the following chapter.**

**I think the next chapter might be the last, though there is a chance I will do more. It depends how it turns out. Anyway, enjoy.**

'_There's things I might have said  
Only wish I could  
Now I'm leaking life faster  
Than I'm leaking blood ___

_Tell the repo man  
And the stars above  
That You're the one I love'_ - _The One I love' – David Gray_

**Chapter 62- The One I Love**

Raoul and Laurent burst out into the morning sunshine and, once clear of the barn door, finally turned to look at one another properly. Raoul quickly noted the massive quantity of blood soaked down Laurent's left side and the pallor of the other man's face.

There was a large rip in his once white shirt. 'Were you shot?'

Laurent glanced down at his own arm, as if suddenly realising that he was injured. 'Uh, yes, I was,'

'Who did that?'

'One of the guards,' Laurent said, as they both began to move swiftly around towards the front of the building. Silence quickly dropped between the two. They had met briefly once before and all that Raoul knew of him was that he was Madame Giry's younger, once estranged, brother.

Still, Christine had seemed to like him. As the sun dried the earth Raoul began to feel horribly dizzy and needed to steady himself by placing a hand against the side of the farm building.

Laurent stopped and looked at him. 'Are you alright?'

Raoul winced but nodded anyway.

'Your brother is around here somewhere,' Laurent announced for the first time. 'I sent him to check the outer perimeter,'

'Philippe is here?' Raoul asked, surprised.

'He insisted on joining the pursuit,' Laurent shrugged and then closed his eyes in pain. 'I shouldn't have done that,'

Raoul managed a weak smile. 'Probably not,'

Laurent looked up and nodded his head. 'There he is,'

Raoul turned to see his older brother bounding towards him and had only just registered what he was seeing before his Philippe was upon him, wrapping him up in his strong arms as if he were a child again. He squeezed him tight and Raoul felt sharp pangs of pain throughout his whole body.

Philippe moved away. 'Look at you,' his face was a shade paler than he remembered. Raoul shrugged him off.

'I'm fine, brother,' Raoul said, as he stepped to the side and continued around the building. 'I need to find Christine, did you see her?'

Philippe shook his head and followed with Laurent.

Raoul frowned and stopped walking. 'You checked the perimeter and you didn't see her?' he asked, to which Philippe replied with simple shake of the head. 'I left her right by the front…'

With that he found some lost energy once again and began to run around the building until he was finally at the front. He looked up along the hill towards the woodland where they had begun their escape but there was simply no sign of her. He turned and turned, trying frantically to spot her, as if he thought she would be in the distance somewhere.

A hot panic washed through him. 'How many guards were there?'

'Only the ones we left in the barn,' Laurent answered.

'You're confident of that?'

Laurent nodded. 'Absolutely,'

His brother was also nodding his agreement. 'We checked before we went in,'

'Then why were you checking the perimeter again?' Raoul asked.

'To be sure,' Philippe replied. 'And I am,'

'Me too,' Laurent added.

'So where is she?' Raoul asked, his heart beating wildly, as if it was trying to escape his chest.

'Perhaps she went up into the woods to hide until you re-emerged?' Philippe suggested, which would seem reasonable under most circumstances but not in this instance, not with Christine.

'She isn't the running and hiding kind,' Raoul said simply.

Philippe thought for a moment, 'We should definitely check, just in case,'

Raoul was shaking his head. 'No, she wouldn't… I've only just got her back, I told her to stay where she was…'

'Strong head,' Laurent said, looking back towards the barn.

'Sorry?' Raoul asked, puzzled.

'Christine,' he clarified. 'She has a strong head, she's strong minded,'

'Yes…'

'Why would she listen to you?'

It was Philippe who answered. 'Because she is his fiancée,'

Laurent lifted his eyebrows. 'Oh…'

'What do you mean '_oh'_?' Philippe asked.

'Well in your world I suppose that's actually the case,'

'What are you talking about?' Philippe asked and Raoul looked on, the panic within him not being eased by the seemingly endless debate.

'What I mean is,' Laurent went on to explain. 'In your world, a fiancée might do as you tell her,'

'Christine is in _our_ world,' Philippe insisted, but Raoul knew what Laurent was trying to say, he understood perfectly and a cold dread swept through him as he listened.

'Yes,' Laurent conceded. 'She is now but she's her own woman… she's needed to take care of herself. She's no-ones property,'

Philippe shook his head. 'I wasn't suggesting that she was,'

'Look, all I'm trying to tell you is that it's plausible that she wouldn't have listened,'

Raoul sighed. 'And followed me instead,'

Laurent glanced at him and Raoul registered the concern in his eyes.

Raoul turned and began to run back into the building just as the pistol shot echoed through the walls. He stopped, eyes wide, staring at Laurent who was standing with him. It felt like an eternity before his legs would function again but in actuality it was probably less than a second.

Laurent was behind him, Philippe not too far back either, as they ran towards the door to the barn. He had hope, _let her be alright_… please God, _let her be alright_…

When he heard her scream, for a moment he was pacified, she was not shouting in pain, she had not been shot. The cry came from the barn and was high and loud… his respite lasted brief moments as he burst into the barn to find Christine kneeling over the Phantom, blood on her hands as sobs racked her fragile body.

She had screamed, 'Erik,'

Now he knew for certain that she was not the one shot, he actually felt no relief at all, instead all he saw was her utter despair as she knelt by her friend's side and tried to save his life. The crimson that flowed through her fingers was dark and raw and mingled now with her own.

Raoul could do nothing but watch as the woman he loved repeated another man's name over and over and _over_ again.

'Erik,' she cried, her body shaking, trembling with anguish. 'Erik… Erik… _Erik_…'

He wanted to step closer, he wanted to lift her into his arms and pull her close and make all of the mess just disappear. Instead, he stood frozen to the spot, too heart broken by her pain to move from where he was standing.

He thought that seeing her attacked by Gabriele had hurt him, he thought that her dying would be painful but now he knew… that the most painful thing in the world was not his own pain, but Christine's and as she cried all he could think was that he had let her down.

Laurent was the first to stir and he moved towards her quickly.

'Please Erik,' Christine murmured as she placed her ear near to his mouth. Finally, as if only just noticing that they were there, she turned and looked up at Laurent. 'He's breathing,'

Laurent reached his hand out but she would not take it, instead she placed her hands back over the Phantom's wound and pressed down.

Laurent spoke, 'Miss Daae,'

'He's breathing,'

'Let me help him,'

'I'm trying…'

'I know…'

'I can… I _can_ help,' she was nodding as she pressed his wound and at the sight of a glimmer of one of her teardrops, Raoul felt his heart crack again.

'It's best if you go,'

She began shaking her head violently. 'No, _no_, I can't… I can't leave him, _how_ can I leave him?'

'I can take care of him,' Laurent attempted to assure her.

She turned again and looked up at him, brown eyes shimmering with a thousand tears. 'He's bleeding,' she said, softly.

Laurent nodded his head.

'I can't leave him bleeding,'

Laurent turned and looked helplessly at Raoul, who finally managed to find the power within him to walk forwards. He ripped the sleeves from his shirt as he moved and handed them quickly to Laurent, who nodded his head and then looked back down at Christine.

'Will you let me help him?' Laurent asked, holding the material out to show her his intentions.

Tears spilled from Christine's eyes. 'He's bleeding,' she repeated and Raoul swallowed hard.

Laurent knelt at the other side of the Phantom and looked down at his wound. Raoul could see slight movement in the older man's chest, air still flowing in and out of his lungs.

Raoul gingerly placed his hand on Christine's shoulder. 'Come Christine,' he said softly. 'Let Laurent help,'

She glanced back and shook her head, sending her tears dripping to the floor. 'I can do it…' she caught her breath, placed her cleaner hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. When she spoke again Raoul was unsure if she was speaking to him or to herself, 'I don't want him to be alone,'

Raoul took a deep breath, 'He won't be alone,' he whispered. 'Laurent will be with him,'

Laurent turned to Philippe. 'Go back to the cottage, get help,'

Philippe did not argue, for the first time in his life he had been given an order and he took it without question. As he left, Raoul turned his attention back to Christine, his hand still resting on her shoulder. 'Please come…'

'He needs me,' She whispered.

'I promise to do everything I can to make sure he is alright,' Laurent said as he pressed the sleeves from Raoul's shirt onto Erik's wound, finally displacing Christine's hand.

Another tear shed and Raoul closed his eyes, almost unable to see her pain any longer. When he opened them again Christine was leaning forward her face close to the Phantom's. To Raoul's amazement when the older man forced open his eyes and fixed them upon Christine he actually smiled.

'Christine,' he whispered,

'Erik…'

The Phantom's hand found Christine's and rested on it momentarily before dropping back down to his side as he winced in pain. 'Be safe, Christine,'

'I _am_ safe,' she whispered back, 'I'm safe here, I'm safe with you… you saved me,'

His smile somehow broadened. 'Oh no…' he coughed, winced again. 'Oh Christine, I have not saved you… it is you who has saved me,'

'You're ill…'

'It appears so,'

'I need to help you,' she was nodding.

The Phantom looked at Laurent and then said, softly, 'Laurent can do that,'

'I want…'

'Now's not the time,' The Phantom said.

'I need to be here, with you,'

He smiled again. 'You need to tend to your own injuries,'

'Yours are worse,'

'Merely a flesh wound,' he joked and Raoul could barely believe what he was hearing.

Laurent was looking paler by the second. 'Vicomte,'

'Please Christine, will you come with me?' he asked, his heart feeling duller by the second. Her wide brown eyes stared back up at him, telling the story of her torment with unashamed clarity.

She looked back at the Phantom lying on his back, his eyes opening and closing, as if he was fighting even with himself.

'Erik,' she said, softly.

He swallowed. 'Yes, Christine?'

'I don't want to go,'

Erik's smile was brief and pained, 'Oh Christine, I don't want you to see me this way,'

She squeezed her eyes shut and when they reopened fresh tears had formed and begun to flow down her cheeks. 'Promise me…'

'_Anything_,'

'Promise me you'll remember me… every now and then, when you're well again… promise me that you won't forget me,'

'I'll remember you always, Christine,' Erik said, but his voice was weaker, his face paler. 'I love you,'

She leaned down and pressed her lips to the corner of the Phantom's mouth, and as much as he wanted to, Raoul could not force himself to look away. She touched her cheek to his and grasped his hand with her own, whispered something into his ear and finally, reluctantly, moved away.

She looked at Raoul. 'I'm ready,'

Laurent looked up at them both and said, 'I'll do what I can,'

Raoul nodded. 'Come Christine,' he held his hand out for her but she did not take it, she walked past him and was out of the door before Raoul had even begun to follow. When she was out of earshot he turned to the Phantom and said, 'Thank you,'

The Phantom's blue eyes focused onto him. 'I did nothing for you,'

'I know,' Raoul nodded. 'I know that,'

With one last glance behind him, Raoul too, walked out of the barn but as he got to the door he heard the Phantom say, 'Laurent, let me die,'

'I can't,' Laurent returned.

'Let me die,' The Phantom said again. 'I am, for the only time in my life, at peace… let me die this way,'

Raoul closed the door behind him and vowed to himself that Christine would never hear those words, as long as he breathed in and out, Christine would believe that Laurent had saved the Phantom's life.


	64. Earthbound

**A/N: Thank you for reviews, always appreciated. And to those of you reading and not reviewing, thank you, and I hope you're enjoying the ride… but it's nearly over.**

**I've decided to reply to reviews individually when this is over… so not long to go.**

**Some of you won't like the ending to this. I can't please everyone, but I try. **

**Thank you again.**

'_He who has never hoped, can never despair' – G.B Shaw_

**Chapter 63- Earthbound **

The sun flashed streaks of orange through the open window and cast stretched shadows along the top of the oak dining table. Antoinette Giry sat alone, staring out onto her once carefully tended garden, now overgrown with brambles and weeds. The greenery was almost blinding in its brightness and, although not neat, she found something oddly attractive about her neglected garden.

It was the one thing she used to do for herself, would not allow her husband to hire some help for. The garden had once been her joy, and despite her pain, she would spend long hours tending to the flowers that adorned its edges.

The maid knocked before she entered, placed a plate of freshly baked croissants at her right hand, a strong coffee to her left, and then walked from the room, without speaking a word. Antoinette looked down at the croissants, which were hot and lightly buttered and smelled just as glorious as always.

Carefully she lifted one from the plate and took a small bite. The taste was creamy and smooth but as soon as she swallowed her stomach turned and she decided against eating anymore.

It had become almost a ritual now, a _tradition._

The maid would come in with the food, Antoinette would revel in its strong and magnificent smell, she would stare at it, take a chunk from it, sip at her coffee and then leave the rest untouched. Occasionally, when she was feeling a little better, she would take a bite out of the second croissant, but she never ate more than that for breakfast.

Then the maid would return, glance at Antoinette to check that she was finished, to which Antoinette would give a simple nod, and then she would leave with the left over food. It was just not the same without Scott to share it with and every time she thought about eating another meal without him, her stomach would lurch and a wave of nausea would take her over.

Another look out of the window only reminded her that he was gone and that she was now spending the summer, almost five months after his death, alone. Probably the worst thing of all was that she knew, deep down, that it was her fault that Scott was dead. Instead of begging him to stay that night she had allowed both her brother and her beloved husband to chase the mob into the cellars, and why? Because she still loved Erik enough to want him to be rescued.

She had no idea that her husband was in the danger that he was in, having not spoken to Erik she had no idea about Gabriele and his fiends, she had no idea what she was allowing Scott to walk into.

Often, since that day, she questioned herself. Why did you let him go? Why didn't you stop him? Why didn't you try to speak to Erik before?

And most of all, even had she known the full extent of the danger that faced her husband, would she still have let him go?

The thing that made her sick the most is that, even had she known Gabriele was there, she would probably still have let Scott go down to the cellars. Had she known he would have died, she would not.

Of course, the police blamed Erik for his death and for every other death that occurred that night. There were three bodies found when the mob led the police down to the trashed lair that was once Erik's home.

Only one was a death at Erik's hands and Antoinette was left with no doubt that he had killed in defence of himself. Even if Laurent had not told her, she knew that Erik would never harm her husband because, despite his protestations and denials, he was actually a good man. As for Nadir, Erik would no more hurt Nadir than she would harm Meg. The two men, though often at each other's throats, were true friends and had been for many years.

When Laurent had returned that night, bloody and battered, she had taken one look at him and her heart had crumbled. She knew about Scott, Meg had been the one to tell her, but she feared that Laurent was gone too. When she saw him alive but hurt, there was a mixture and unrivalled relief and pure anguish.

_She missed Scott with every beat of her heart._

If there was one good thing to come from the whole event it was that she and Laurent were now close again, but it was no real consolation for losing her true love. Scott's death had been hard on Meg but she was resilient, more so than Antoinette had ever given her credit for. Her daughter was strong and she was the only thing that kept her going, if it wasn't for Meg, Antoinette feared that she might simply give up altogether.

There was so little left to live for now.

The police discovered the bodies at the farm building a little short of ten miles away. She was amazed that Laurent had made it in time, amazed more so that only three dead bodies were found at the scene. One of which was Gabriele, for which Antoinette was eternally grateful.

The world would not miss such a man as he.

Though she had tried, Laurent would give no details of what happened in that barn and she was finally beginning to understand that he never would. She saw very little of Raoul and Christine but when she did, neither of them would speak either, it was as if the three of them had developed their own code of silence.

There was a knock at the door bringing her abruptly from her thoughts.

'Come in,' she said, and her voice sounded croaky. She wondered if anything would ever seem normal again.

Meg stepped in and forced a weak smile. 'Are you alright?'

Antoinette nodded, forcing a smile of her own.

'Diane said that you hadn't eaten your breakfast again,' Meg prompted.

'I wasn't hungry,' Antoinette explained.

Meg was silent for a moment before she came around and sat in the chair next to her. 'You can't go on like that, mama,'

Antoinette said nothing but she felt the sharp prickle of threatening tears at the back of her eyes.

'Please,' Meg pleaded. 'I know… I _know_ you're hurt…'

'I'm fine…'

'Don't lie to me,' Meg said. 'I'm not a child now and I see what you're doing. It's as if you _want_ to die,' when Antoinette did not contradict her she added, softly. 'And then I will be alone,'

'You won't be alone,'

Meg shook her head. 'I will be if you keep starving yourself,'

'I'm not starving myself,' Antoinette said softly.

'You've lost so much weight,' Meg said, 'I know you're not eating anything,'

'I ate some croissant this morning,' Antoinette defended herself, but she knew that she was sounding like a child. The situation was almost a complete role reversal.

'Half a mouthful does not constitute eating, mother,'

Antoinette nodded.

'I know you miss him,' Meg swallowed hard. 'We all do,'

'I'm sorry,'

'Please try,' Meg said and then added, 'For me,'

Antoinette reached out and touched her daughter's cheek as Meg rose to leave. 'I'd do anything for you,'

Meg smiled, a genuine and warm smile, one Antoinette had not seen for a while. 'I know that,'

'Have Diane bring me some toast in, with jam,' Antoinette suggested, although the thought of eating made her stomach twist into a knot.

Meg nodded and walked to the door and just as she was about to leave she said, 'I almost forgot,' she walked back in and handed Antoinette the morning newspaper.

When she was gone Antoinette opened up the pages and skimmed over them, taking in the interesting articles and drifting over the rest. As she arrived at the bottom of the last page she saw something that stopped her heart.

She placed the paper on the table and allowed herself to cry… _one last time_.

* * *

Christine's knees were tucked tightly into her chest as she gazed out of the gap in the curtains, her eyes drifting over the huge garden and settling on the shimmering pond in the distance. She now lived in a wing off the De Chagny residence with her own maid and her own butler and her own feeling that she did not quite belong.

It raised a few eyebrows, she knew that, but they were not to know that Raoul and she barely ever saw each other. Her side of the home was hers and hers alone, it was something Philippe had insisted on, it was something Raoul had finally agreed to. They were still engaged and she still loved him but the last few months had been some of the most difficult of her life.

Leaving Erik dying was the hardest thing she had _ever_ done. Laurent had sworn he would help but Erik's face had paled so dramatically, and there had been so much blood that, though she knew the young man would try, she had never held out much hope for Erik's survival.

Despite this, she still prayed for it nightly.

She was determined to make an effort with Raoul but it was hard for her when she thought of Erik, thought of him being out of her life. She wore black, mostly, and quietly mourned the loss, whether by death or distance, of one of the truest friends she had ever known.

Raoul was a wonderful and kind man, patient to a fault as he allowed her the long stretching months to herself to think of Erik. His understanding was something she feared ever losing, his warmth so genuine that she knew that at least she was in the right place.

Still, it did not stop her thoughts of Erik.

Although many people thought her circumstances were peculiar, Raoul's sister in particular, Raoul and Philippe remained supportive of her. She was surprised that Philippe had been as open and as accepting as he was being but it was as if that night had changed them all.

The wounds were almost all healed now, barring a scar here and there, she felt no different physically.

Emotionally, she was a wreck.

Some nights the tears simply would not stop and she would remain awake the whole night, only thoughts of that night, of Erik, of Gabriele, of Raoul's pain… to keep her company. She would lie there, eyes wide until the bright sun shone through the windows and the birds sang.

On the occasions when she did sleep, nightmares broke into her mind and tormented her all through the night. Nightmares she could not wake from, no matter how hard she tried. Nightmares that drenched her in cold sweat and shook her to the core.

She could not win, either way, she could not get over it.

Something had changed in Raoul that night, as well. Not necessarily for the worse. He seemed more open to her, freer, more willing to listen to what she was saying. It was as if the whole thing had given him a level of trust in her that he didn't have before.

Christine knew it was because when he had not listened to her there had been an almost unmitigated disaster. It felt good to have his trust yet she felt guilty, as though she did not deserve it.

Perhaps she didn't.

There was a knock at the door and her new maid entered, carrying fruit and bread, with freshly squeezed orange juice. The smell of breakfast was always welcome because it was the most relaxed she ever felt.

Her maid smiled warmly, wishing her a good day as she handed her the morning paper. Christine smiled back and once the maid had gone, she set about chewing slowly on her breakfast and reading the paper.

She read almost every word because she needed to be in something that wasn't her reality. Though the news was rarely ever good, it was not _her_ news, it was not something _she_ was dealing with and sometimes it made her value her own life much more.

She finished her breakfast just as she turned to the last page. When she got to the bottom she read and paused, feeling bile rise to her throat.

The print was clear, bold and concise and no amount of re –reading changed the words. It was a message for her and it said:

'Erik is Dead'

* * *

**A/N2: This is **_**not**_** the end. One chapter to go.**

**Bear with me**


	65. Eternity

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews. I was tempted to leave this chapter for a couple of days, but I'm not that cruel.**

**This is the final chapter, it is the end… after over a year, I have finally completed it. It's been hard work and I can only give my true thanks to those of you that stuck with it and in particular the ones who kept waiting, despite my long absence.**

**The reviews mean the most, I think, but seeing so many hits per chapter certainly lifts a persons spirit. If you're an anonymous reviewer, I unfortunately, cannot reply to your review personally- though I would like to- accept my thanks anyway!**

**Those of you with accounts, expect a response within the next few days.**

**Chapter 64- Eternity**

The morning had past her by quickly but now she was done and standing alone in her bedroom, which was stripped of her few belongings. In spite of Raoul's protests, she had insisted on paying her own way in terms of clothing and so far she had saved very little. It was fortunate that she had, she would only feel worse had she taken him up on his kind offer.

She lifted her small bag from the floor and took another long gaze out of her window, watching what she knew she would never see again, and feeling sad at the thought that it's beauty would forever be lost to her.

The door clicked shut behind her and the maid politely asked if she needed some help with her bag. Christine simply smiled and insisted that the maid take the rest of the day off, she neglected to mention that she would not be there the next day, when the maid returned.

Each solid wood step on the grand staircase creaked under foot as she descended into the huge marble lobby. The building was over one hundred years old, had been in the De Chagny family since it was built, and Christine had not doubt that so long as the De Chagny name lived, then so would this house.

She could hear Raoul's soft voice in the parlour to the left and she closed her eyes, thinking of all the hurt she would cause but also thinking of all the pain she was in. Christine had never denied being selfish and this was one time when, though selfishness was there, she had also considered Raoul in her decision.

It must have been difficult for Raoul, she knew, watching his fiancée mourn the loss of another man. She had tried to be private, she had tried not to show her grief but she knew that it must have shown. Now the emotion would only show more and it was unfair for her to continue the charade that she could make a life with Raoul.

Too much water had past under the bridge, too much pain and heartache for them both.

Part of her wished that she was staying.

She would miss Raoul dearly and his memory would, no doubt, serve her well in pursuit of a life of her own. The truth was that she needed to be herself and with Raoul, she would never truly be the scruffy daughter of the poor, yet talented violinist, who had clumsily lost her scarf in the Spanish waters. She wanted to be that person again, though frightened, fiercely independent and strong, because she needed to be _and_ because she _wanted_ to be.

She was proud of her origins, she was proud of her family… she was proud that she had been poor.

Being part of the aristocracy would never suit her and living a lie with Raoul would only break his heart eventually. Best that this was the way it was.

Quietly she placed her bag on the floor in the lobby and she walked into the parlour. Therein, she found Raoul sipping coffee and leaning against the hearth, talking to one of his many sporting friends. Both men turned to her and smiled warmly.

Raoul was first to speak, his voice full of light and air, the things that Christine felt she had lost in herself, 'Darling, you're up,'

She nodded and as she did, she saw the smile fade quickly from her fiancés sweet and kind face.

'Trevor,' he said, to his friend. 'Would you give us a moment, please?'

Trevor looked from his friend to Christine and then back again, as if he understood. He nodded his head, bid Christine a good day, and left the room, being sure to close the door behind him.

'What's wrong?' he asked, when he knew that Trevor was out of earshot.

She stared at him and felt all of the last year build up within her, all of the hurt and the pain, the anguish and heartache. She could almost feel Raoul's lips on hers, just by looking at him, and she knew for a brief time she would miss his lips and for a long time after she would miss his softness.

Before she knew it, she felt hot tears burn her eyes and trickle slowly down both of her cheeks. Raoul's face had turned from happy to concerned, to utterly, and heartbreakingly, sorrowful.

'Christine,' he said, his voice soft as he stepped forward. Something made him stop though, and he never made it to her, to wrap her up in his strong and protective arms.

_Arms that she would never feel again. _

She was glad when he stayed still, she wasn't sure she could ever go if she was curled up in his warm embrace. After a moment of silent tears she walked to him, pressed her lips to his cheek and whispered, 'I'm so sorry,'

When she turned and walked away, he did not try to stop her, he did not call her name and he did not ask why. It was as if the last few months had taught him the inevitable, that one day she would be gone. She had tried her best, but her anguish had been so great that she could barely hide it at all.

Raoul had patiently waited for her and, in years to come, she would often wonder why he had done that.

She lifted her bag as she moved through the lobby and wandered out of the front door and onto the courtyard. The carriage she had arranged was waiting for her and as she approached, the driver stepped down and opened the door for her. She got in, instructed the driver, and they moved away from the house.

She did not look back.

She did not see Raoul staring at her, watching her leave with tears in her eyes.

She would never know the pain she had caused him when she walked from his life and _he_ would never get the chance to tell her the joy she had given him while she had been a part of it

* * *

The sun was violently hot and, though a soft breeze came into the carriage, Christine could barely wait for her long journey to be over. She had stopped in briefly at the Giry residence on her way.

Madame Giry had greeted her with possibly the most regretful smile she had ever seen. The ballet mistress' hold when she hugged her had been tight, firm and loving. Meg, too, had held her as if they knew it was the last they were likely to see her.

Laurent was the only one not to express himself by pulling her into his arms and she was quietly glad of his restraint, though she saw in his eyes that he wanted to. After a brief and vague conversation with each of them, she had settled herself back into the carriage and prepared herself to her journey.

It was nearly three hours later, many miles south of Paris, when the small farm she was looking for finally came into view. The sun was beginning to lower in the sky, yet the evening was still bright and beautiful.

Her heart ached as she thought of Raoul and the things she had left behind but she knew, now, that she could have no regrets.

'Is that the place, mademoiselle?' the driver asked, over his shoulder.

'That's it,' she said, but didn't know why she was so sure.

As they got closer she saw the cottage and immediately fell in love with it. It's quiet beauty amazed her and she felt, for the first time in a long while, happy. This was her new home and she was both excited and worried all at the same time. It was difficult to break free from something you had slowly become used to but Christine knew that now it was time.

When they arrived at the gate, she climbed out without waiting for the driver to open the door, and she paid him generously for his troubles. He smiled politely and before she had turned her back he was off into the distance, seemingly without a care in the world.

She walked along the gravel path, feeling it crunching beneath her feet. Oddly, the front door was open when she approached it but when she walked in she saw not a sign of anyone.

Placing her bag near to the door, where she knew she could find it, she wandered slowly around the house. She took in the smell of its freshness, the smell of its freedom. She roamed through the hallway, looking around her, and then entered a large kitchen with a dark slate floor and a long, old dining table in the centre. The oven was bubbling and she could hear a woman speaking in the garden, which was out of the door at the end of the kitchen.

Crushing her nerves down she walked out through the back door and glanced right, then left. On her left she saw a young couple, a little older than herself, talking as the man tended the flowers in the corner of the garden. The man said something and the woman giggled.

Christine was about to speak to them when she saw something in the corner of her eye that caught her attention. It was what she was looking for and immediately forgot about the young owners of the cottage. She walked across the jade grass, so bright under the slowly falling evening sun, and finally found her way to the old fence that surrounded the property.

'Thank you for the message,' she said, softly.

He turned around. 'You're welcome,'

'You don't seem surprised to see me,'

'I am surprised,'

'You don't seem it,'

'Well,' he said. 'I am,'

They stood there looking at each other for a moment.

'I didn't expect to see you again,' he explained, his eyes on her.

'But you gave Laurent directions and instructions,' she said.

'I did,'

'Why?' she asked. 'If you didn't expect me to come,'

He turned his face away, so that his white mask glimmered under the dazzling rays of the sun, and looked off into the distance. Instead of answering her question, Erik said, 'Have you met Charles and Marianne yet?'

She glanced back over her shoulder at the couple in the garden. 'No,'

'I'll introduce you,' he said, and then, turning to her, 'Later,'

'Why give him the directions?'

He sighed. 'Through my despair I found hope,'

'You _hoped _that I would come?'

'Same as always,' he answered softly.

She laughed and leaned against the fence, not caring that her dress might muddy or tear, not caring about anything at all really. 'The message was harsh,'

'It would hardly have been appropriate for me to say; _Erik is alive and well and staying at a farm three hours south of Paris_, would it?' his tone was light, like she had never heard it before. 'Besides,' he continued. 'It got to you, didn't it?'

Silence filled the air between them as she stood, looking into his blue eyes and wondering what she would have done if he had not survived.

This had never been the plan though, she never intended to do this.

'I nearly didn't leave the message,'

'It took you long enough,' she said, with a smile.

'It took me long enough to heal,' he explained. 'And then… I couldn't decide,'

'But you did,'

'You asked me to,'

That day in the barn, when Erik had been lying on the floor, a bullet wound through his middle and blood pooling around the injury, he had told her he loved her. For the first time since she had known him, through her grief, she had come to understand her feelings for him too. When she had kissed him, she had whispered, 'When you're well, find a way to let me know it,'

It was optimistic and at the time she thought she was simply giving him an easier way to die. To see him again, alive and seemingly well, made her heart swell like it never had before.

She stepped closer to him. 'I'm glad you're alright,' she whispered.

'I wanted to die,' he said.

'Why?'

He smiled but didn't reply, instead he said, 'I'm glad you came,'

She swallowed hard. 'I'm glad I came too,'

His eyes clouded for a moment as he asked, 'What of Raoul?'

'I didn't tell him anything,' she replied. 'But he knows I'm not going back,'

'Do you think he knows?'

She thought for a moment. 'I do,'

'And he will just accept that?'

'If he is half the man that you are then yes, eventually, he will accept that,'

Erik stood from the fence and looked down at her. 'Let me introduce you to my cousins,'

Christine's giggle surprised herself.

'What is it?' he asked, looking confused.

'Its hard to imagine you with family… this all feels so normal,'

Erik smiled. 'I am a man, you know?'

'I know,' she smiled back.

As he moved away she felt her heart climb to her throat, 'Erik,' she said and then held her breath.

He turned to face her again, 'Yes, Christine?'

She closed her eyes, opening them again to be met by piercing blue, she took a breath and said the words she had waited five long months to say. Words she had hoped would someday find their way from her lips to Erik, words that were so long hidden, so long almost lost, words she could never forgot… words she could not mean more,

'I love you,' she whispered.

When his lips touched hers she felt a shiver race along her spine, his arm encircled her waist, his strength pulled her close. Never before had she felt so safe and so at home, so loved and so warm.

With one last squeeze he moved away, placing a kiss on her forehead and taking in the scent of her hair as he did. 'I never thought I'd see you again,'

'Well you have,' she said, softly. 'And you will see a lot more of me,'

He looked down at his hands.

She could see the concern in his eyes as he looked back up, 'I'll never leave, Erik,' she assured him, feeling her heart skip a beat as he reached out and touched her face with his hand, 'I'll never leave,'

When he didn't answer, she said, 'Please tell me nothings changed,' a fear gripped her chest. 'Tell me you still love me… even after all…'

She was quieted by his fingertips on her lips, 'Shh,' he whispered, 'Je vous aimerai toujours,'

* * *

**A/N: Thank you again. I'd really appreciate reviews here... This is really the end!**

**Translation below.**

**I will love you, always, **


End file.
